AVE  • ROMA  • IMMORTALIS 


/ 


AVE  • ROMA  • IMMORTALIS 


STUDIES 

FROM  THE 

CHRONICLES  OF  ROME 


BY 

FRANCIS  MARION  CRAWFORD 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.  I 


Hontion 

MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

New  York  : The  Macmillan  Company 
1899 


All  rights  reserved. 


Copyright,  1898, 

By  The  Macmillan  Company. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  October,  1898.  Reprinted  November, 
December,  1898  ; January,  1899. 


Norwood  Press 

J.  S.  Cushing  & Co.  — Berwick  & Smith 
Norwood , Mass U.S.A. 


/ 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


VOLUME  I 


PAGE 


The  Making  of  the  City 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The  Empire 

22 

The  City  of  Augustus  . 

• 57 

The  Middle  Age 

. 78 

The  Fourteen  Regions  . 

Region  I 

Monti  . 

Region  II 

Trevi  . 

• 155 

Region  III 

Colonna 

Region  IV 

Campo  Marzo 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

to 

-u 

00 

Region  V 

Ponte  . 

• 274 

Region  VI 

Parione 

• .29  7 

V 


LIST  OF  PHOTOGRAVURE  PLATES 


VOLUME  I 


Map  of  Rome 

The  Wall  of  Romulus 

Palace  of  the  Caesars  ...... 

The  Campagna  and  Ruins  of  the  Claudian  Aqueduct 
Temple  of  Castor  and  Pollux  .... 

Basilica  Constantine  

Basilica  of  Saint  John  Lateran  .... 
Baths  of  Diocletian  ...... 

Fountain  of  Trevi 

Piazza  Barberini  ....... 

Porta  San  Lorenzo 

Villa  Borghese  . 

Piazza  del  Popolo  

Island  in  the  Tiber 

Palazzo  Massimo  alle  Colonna  .... 


Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

4 

. 30 

. 50 

70 
90 
. 114 

. . 140 

. . 158 

. 188 

. . 214 

. 230 

. . 256 

. . 280 

. 306 


Vll 


ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  THE  TEXT 


VOLUME  I 

PAGE 

Palatine  Hill  and  Mouth  of  the  Cloaca  Maxima  . . . . i 

Ruins  of  the  Servian  Wall 8 

Etruscan  Bridge  at  Veii  16 

Tombs  on  the  Appian  Way 22 

Brass  of  Tiberius,  showing  the  Temple  of  Concord  ...  24 

The  Tarpeian  Rock 28 

Caius  Julius  Caesar 36 

Octavius  Augustus  Caesar  ........  45 

Brass  of  Trajan,  showing  the  Circus  Maximus  ....  56 

Brass  of  Antoninus  Pius,  in  Honour  of  Faustina,  with  Reverse 

showing  Vesta  bearing  the  Palladium 57 

Ponte  Rotto,  now  destroyed 67 

Atrium  of  Vesta 72 

Brass  of  Gordian,  showing  the  Colosseum 78 

The  Colosseum 87 

Ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Saturn .92 

Brass  of  Gordian,  showing  Roman  Games  .....  99 

Ruins  of  the  Julian  Basilica 100 

Brass  of  Titus,  showing  the  Colosseum 105 

Region  I Monti,  Device  of  . . . . . .106 

Santa  Francesca  Romana 111 

San  Giovanni  in  Laterano  . . . . . . . .116 

Piazza  Colonna  . . . . . . . . . .119 

Piazza  di  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano 126 

viii 


Illustrations  in  the  Text 


IX 


Santa  Maria  Maggiore 

Porta  Maggiore,  supporting  the  Channels  of  the  Aqueduct  of 
Claudius  and  the  Anio  Novus  ...... 

Interior  of  the  Colosseum  ........ 

Region  II  Trevi,  Device  of  ...... 

Grand  Hall  of  the  Colonna  Palace  ...... 

Interior  of  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus  ..... 

Forum  of  Trajan  ......... 

Ruins  of  Hadrian’s  Villa  at  Tivoli 

Palazzo  del  Quirinale  ......... 

Region  III  Colonna,  Device  of  . ...... 

Arch  of  Titus  .......... 

Twin  Churches  at  the  Entrance  of  the  Corso  .... 

San  Lorenzo  in  Lucina  ........ 

Palazzo  Doria-Pamfili  ........ 

Palazzo  di  Monte  Citorio  

Palazzo  di  Venezia  ......... 

Region  IV  Campo  Marzo,  Device  of 

Piazza  di  Spagna  

Trinitk  de  Monti 

Villa  Medici 

Region  V Ponte  

Bridge  of  Sant’  Angelo  ........ 

Villa  Negroni  .......... 

Region  VI  Parione,  Device  of  . 

Piazza  Navona  .......... 

Ponte  Sisto  

The  Cancelleria 

$ 


PAGE 

134 

145 

152 

155 

l62 

I69 

171 

180 

185 

I9O 

191 

197 

204 

208 

223 

234 

248 

251 

257 

265 

274 

285 

292 

29  7 

303 

307 

316 


WORKS  CONSULTED 


NOT  INCLUDING  CLASSIC  WRITERS  NOR  ENCYCLOPAEDIAS 

1.  Ampere — Histoire  Romaine  k Rome. 

Ampere  — L’Empire  Romain  k Rome. 

2.  Baracconi  — I Rioni  di  Roma. 

3.  Boissier  — Promenades  Archdologiques. 

4.  Bryce  — The  Holy  Roman  Empire. 

5 . Cellini  — M emoirs . 

6.  Coppi  — Memoire  Colonnesi. 

7.  Fortunato  — Storia  delle  vite  delle  Imperatrici  Romane. 

8.  Gibbon — Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 

9.  Gnoli  — Vittoria  Accoramboni. 

10.  Gregorovius  — Geschichte  der  Stadt  Rom. 

11.  Hare  — Walks  in  Rome. 

12.  J osephus  — Life  of. 

13.  Lanciani  — Ancient  Rome. 

14.  Leti  — Vita  di  Sisto  V. 

15.  Muratori  — Scriptores  Rerum  Italicarum. 

Muratori  — Annali  d’  Italia. 

Muratori  — Antichitk  Italiane. 

16.  Ramsay  and  Lanciani  — A Manual  of  Roman  Antiquities. 

17.  Schneider  — Das  Alte  Rom. 

18.  Silvagni  — La  Corte  e la  Societk  Romana. 


x 


* 


PALATINE  HILL  AND  MOUTH  OF  THE  CLOACA  MAXIMA 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


i 

The  story  of  Rome  is  the  most  splendid  romance 
in  all  history.  A few  shepherds  tend  their  flocks 
among  volcanic  hills,  listening  by  day  and  night  to 
the  awful  warnings  of  the  subterranean  voice,  — born 
in  danger,  reared  in  peril,  living  their  lives  under 
perpetual  menace  of  destruction,  from  generation  to 
generation.  Then,  at  last,  the  deep  voice  swells  to 
thunder,  roaring  up  from  the  earth’s  heart,  the  light- 
ning shoots  madly  round  the  mountain  top,  the  ground 
rocks,  and  the  air  is  darkened  with  ashes.  The  moment 
has  come.  One  man  is  a leader,  but  not  all  will  follow 
him.  He  leads  his  small  band  swiftly  down  from  the 


VOL.  I 


i 


2 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


heights,  and  they  drive  a flock  and  a little  herd  before 
them,  while  each  man  carries  his  few  belongings  as 
best  he  can,  and  there  are  few  women  in  the  company. 
The  rest  would  not  be  saved,  and  they  perish  among 
their  huts  before  another  day  is  over. 

Down,  always  downwards,  march  the  wanderers, 
rough,  rugged,  young  with  the  terrible  youth  of  those 
days,  and  wise  only  with  the  wisdom  of  nature.  Down 
the  steep  mountain  they  go,  down  over  the  rich,  roll- 
ing land,  down  through  the  deep  forests,  unhewn  of 
man,  down  at  last  to  the  river,  where  seven  low  hills 
rise  out  of  the  wide  plain.  One  of  those  hills  the 
leader  chooses,  rounded  and  grassy;  there  they  en- 
camp, and  they  dig  a trench  and  build  huts.  Pales, 
protectress  of  flocks,  gives  her  name  to  the  Palatine 
Hill.  Rumon,  the  flowing  river,  names  the  village 
Rome,  and  Rome  names  the  leader  Romulus,  the  Man 
of  the  River,  the  Man  of  the  Village  by  the  River ; 
and  to  our  own  time  the  twenty-first  of  April  is  kept 
and  remembered,  and  even  now  honoured,  for  the 
very  day  on  which  the  shepherds  began  to  dig  their 
trench  on  the  Palatine,  the  date  of  the  Foundation  of 
Rome,  from  which  seven  hundred  and  fifty-four  years 
were  reckoned  to  the  birth  of  Christ. 

And  the  shepherds  called  their  leader  King,  though 
his  kingship  was  over  but  few  men.  Yet  they  were 
such  men  as  begin  history,  and  in  the  scant  company 
there  were  all  the  seeds  of  empire.  First  the  profound 


The  Making  of  the  City 


3 


faith  of  natural  mankind,  unquestioning,  immovable, 
inseparable  from  every  daily  thought  and  action ; then 
fierce  strength,  and  courage,  and  love  of  life  and  of 
possession ; last,  obedience  to  the  chosen  leader,  in 
clear  liberty,  when  one  should  fail,  to  choose  another. 
So  the  Romans  began  to  win  the  world,  and  won  it 
in  about  six  hundred  years. 

By  their  camp-fires,  by  their  firesides  in  their  little 
huts,  they  told  old  tales  of  their  race,  and  round  the 
truth  grew  up  romantic  legend,  ever  dear  to  the  fight- 
ing man  and  to  the  husbandman  alike,  with  strange 
tales  of  their  first  leader’s  birth,  fit  for  poets,  and 
woven  to  stir  young  hearts  to  daring,  and  young  hands 
to  smiting.  Truth  there  was  under  their  stories,  but 
how  much  of  it  no  man  can  tell : how  Amulius  of 
Alba  Longa  slew  his  sons,  and  slew  also  his  daughter, 
loved  of  Mars,  mother  of  twin  sons  left  to  die  in  the 
'forest,  like  CEdipus,  father-slayers,  as  CEdipus  was, 
wolf-suckled,  of  whom  one  was  born  to  kill  the  other 
and  be  the  first  King,  and  be  taken  up  to  Jupiter  in 
storm  and  lightning  at  the  last.  The  legend  of  wise 
Numa,  next,  taught  by  Egeria  ; her  stony  image  still 
weeps  trickling  tears  for  her  royal  adept,  and  his 
earthen  cup,  jealously  guarded,  was  worshipped  for 
more  than  a thousand  years ; legends  of  the  first  Arval 
brotherhood,  dim  as  the  story  of  Melchisedec,  King 
and  priest,  but  lasting  as  Rome  itself.  Tales  of  King 
Tullus,  when  the  three  Horatii  fought  for  Rome 


4 


Ave  Roma  Immortal  is 


against  the  three  Curiatii,  who  smote  for  Alba  and 
lost  the  day  — Tullus  Hostilius,  grandson  of  that  first 
Hostus  who  had  fought  against  the  Sabines ; and 
always  more  legend,  and  more,  and  more,  sometimes 
misty,  sometimes  clear  and  direct  in  action  as  a Greek 
tragedy.  They  hover  upon  the  threshold  of  history, 
with  faces  of  beauty  or  of  terror,  sublime,  ridiculous, 
insignificant,  some  born  of  desperate,  real  deeds,  many 
another,  perhaps,  first  told  by  some  black-haired  shep- 
herd mother  to  her  wondering  boys  at  evening,  when 
the  brazen  pot  simmered  on  the  smouldering  fire,  and 
the  father  had  not  yet  come  home. 

But  down  beneath  the  legend  lies  the  fact,  in  hewn 
stones  already  far  in  the  third  thousand  of  their  years. 
Digging  for  truth,  searchers  have  come  here  and  there 
upon  the  first  walls  and  gates  of  the  Palatine  village, 
straight,  strong  and  deeply  founded.  The  men  who 
made  them  meant  to  hold  their  own,  and  their  own  was 
whatsoever  they  were  able  to  take  from  others  by  force. 
They  built  their  walls  round  a four-sided  space,  wide 
enough  for  them,  scarcely  big  enough  a thousand  years 
later  for  the  houses  of  their  children’s  rulers,  the  pal- 
aces of  the  Caesars  of  which  so  much  still  stands  today. 

Then  came  the  man  who  built  the  first  bridge  across 
the  river,  of  wooden  piles  and  beams,  bolted  with 
bronze,  because  the  Romans  had  no  iron  yet,  and  ever 
afterwards  repaired  with  wood  and  bronze,  for  its  sanc- 
tity, in  perpetual  veneration  of  Ancus  Martius,  fourth 


The  Making  of  the  City 


5 


King  of  Rome.  That  was  the  bridge  Horatius  kept 
against  Porsena  of  Clusium,  while  the  fathers  hewed  it 
down  behind  him. 

Tarquin  the  first  came  next,  a stranger  of  Greek 
blood,  chosen,  perhaps,  because  the  factions  in  Rome 
could  not  agree.  Then  Servius,  great  and  good,  built 
his  tremendous  fortification,  and  the  King  of  Italy  to- 
day, driving  through  the  streets  in  his  carriage,  may 
look  upon  the  wall  of  the  King  who  reigned  in  Rome 
more  than  two  thousand  and  four  hundred  years  ago. 

Under  those  six  rulers,  from  Romulus  to  Servius, 
from  the  man  of  the  River  Village  to  the  man  of  walls, 
Rome  had  grown  from  a sheepfold  to  a town,  from  a 
town  to  a walled  city,  from  a city  to  a little  nation, 
matched  against  all  mankind,  to  win  or  die,  inch  by 
inch,  sword  in  hand.  She  was  a kingdom  now,  and  her 
men  were  subjects;  and  still  the  third  law  of  great 
races  was  strong  and  waking.  Romans  obeyed  their 
leader  so  long  as  he  could  lead  them  well  — no  longer. 
The  twilight  of  the  Kings  gathered  suddenly,  and  their 
names  were  darkened,  and  their  sun  went  down  in 
shame  and  hate.  In  the  confusion,  tragic  legend  rises 
to  tell  the  story.  For  the  first  time  in  Rome,  a woman, 
famous  in  all  history,  turned  the  scale.  The  King’s 
son,  passionate,  terrible,  false,  steals  upon  her  in  the 
dark.  ‘ I am  Sextus  Tarquin,  and  there  is  a sword  in 
my  hand.’  Yet  she  yielded  to  no  fear  of  steel,  but  to 
the  horror  of  unearned  shame  beyond  death.  On  the 


6 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


next  day,  when  she  lay  before  her  husband  and  her 
father  and  the  strong  Brutus,  her  story  told,  her  deed 
done,  splendidly  dead  by  her  own  hand,  they  swore  the 
oath  in  which  the  Republic  was  born.  While  father, 
husband  and  friend  were  stunned  with  grief,  Brutus 
held  up  the  dripping  knife  before  their  eyes.  ‘ By  this 
most  chaste  blood,  I swear  — Gods  be  my  witnesses  — 
that  I will  hunt  down  Tarquin  the  Proud,  himself,  his 
infamous  wife  and  every  child  of  his,  with  fire  and 
sword,  and  with  all  my  might,  and  neither  he  nor  any 
other  man  shall  ever  again  be  King  in  Rome.’  So  they 
all  swore,  and  bore  the  dead  woman  out  into  the  market- 
place, and  called  on  all  men  to  stand  by  them. 

They  kept  their  word,  and  the  tale  tells  how  the  Tar- 
quins  were  driven  out  to  a perpetual  exile,  and  by  and 
by  allied  themselves  with  Porsena,  and  marched  on 
Rome,  and  were  stopped  only  at  the  Sublician  bridge 
by  brave  Horatius. 

Chaos  next.  Then  all  at  once  the  Republic  stands 
out,  born  full  grown  and  ready  armed,  stern,  organized 
and  grasping,  but  having  already  within  itself  the  quick- 
ened opposites  that  were  to  fight  for  power  so  long  and 
so  fiercely, — the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  patrician  and 
the  plebeian,  the  might  and  the  right. 

There  is  a wonder  in  that  quick  change  from  King- 
dom to  Commonwealth,  which  nothing  can  make  clear, 
except,  perhaps,  modern  history.  Say  that  two  thou- 
sand or  more  years  hereafter  men  shall  read  of  what 


The  Making  of  the  City 


7 


our  grandfathers,  our  fathers  and  ourselves  have  seen 
done  in  France  within  a hundred  years,  out  of  two  or 
three  old  books  founded  mostly  on  tradition  ; they  may 
be  confused  by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  kings,  by 
the  chaos,  the  wild  wars  and  the  unforeseen  birth  of  a 
lasting  republic,  just  as  we  are  puzzled  when  we  read  of 
the  same  sequence  in  ancient  Rome.  Men  who  come 
after  us  will  have  more  documents,  too.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible that  all  books  and  traces  of  written  history  should 
be  destroyed  throughout  the  world,  as  the  Gauls  burned 
everything  in  Rome,  except  the  Capitol  itself,  held  by 
the  handful  of  men  who  had  taken  refuge  there. 

So  the  Kingdom  fell  with  a woman’s  death,  and  the 
Commonwealth  was  made  by  her  avengers.  Take  the 
story  as  you  will,  for  truth  or  truth’s  legend,  it  is  for 
ever  humanly  true,  and  such  deeds  would  rouse  a nation 
today  as  they  did  then  and  as  they  set  Rome  on  fire 
once  more  nearly  sixty  years  later. 

But  all  the  time  Rome  was  growing  as  if  the  very 
stones  had  life  to  put  out  shoots  and  blossoms  and  bear 
fruit.  Round  about  the  city  the  great  Servian  wall  had 
wound  like  a vast  finger,  in  and  out,  grasping  the  seven 
hills,  and  taking  in  what  would  be  a fair-sized  city  even 
in  our  day.  They  were  the  last  defences  Rome  built 
for  herself,  for  nearly  nine  hundred  years. 

Nothing  can  give  a larger  idea  of  Rome’s  greatness 
than  that ; not  all  the  temples,  monuments,  palaces, 
public  buildings  of  later  years  can  tell  half  the  certainty 


8 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


of  her  power  expressed  by  that  one  fact  — Rome  needed 
no  walls  when  once  she  had  won  the  world. 

But  it  is  very  hard  to  guess  at  what  the  city  was,  in 
those  grim  times  of  the  early  fight  for  life.  We  know 
the  walls,  and  there  were  nineteen  gates  in  all,  and  there 
were  paved  roads ; the  wooden  bridge,  the  Capitol  with 
its  first  temple  and  first  fortress,  the  first  Forum  with 
the  Sacred  Way,  were  all  there,  and  the  public  foun- 


1U/1NS  OF  THE  SERVIAN  WALL 


tain,  called  the  Tullianum,  and  a few  other  sites  are 
certain.  The  rest  must  be  imagined. 

Rome  was  a brown  city  in  those  days,  when  there  was 
no  marble  and  little  stucco : a brown  city  teeming  with 
men  and  women  clothed  mostly  in  grey  and  brown  and 
black  woollen  cloaks,  like  those  the  hill  shepherds  wear 
today,  caught  up  under  one  arm  and  thrown  far  over 
the  shoulder  in  dark  folds.  The  low  houses  without  any 
outer  windows,  entered  by  one  rough  door,  were  built 


/ 


9 


The  Making  of  the  City 

close  together,  and  those  near  the  Forum  had  shops  out- 
side them,  low-browed  places,  dark  but  not  deep,  where 
the  cloaked  keeper  sat  behind  a stone  counter  among 
his  wares,  waiting  for  custom,  watching  all  that  hap- 
pened in  the  market-place,  gathering  in  gossip  from  one 
buyer  to  exchange  it  for  more  with  the  next,  altogether 
not  unlike  the  small  Eastern  merchant  of  today. 

Yet  during  more  than  half  the  time,  there  were  few 
young  men,  or  men  in  prime,  in  the  streets  of  Rome. 
They  were  fighting  more  than  half  the  year,  while  their 
fathers  and  their  children  stayed  behind  with  the  women. 
The  women  sat  spinning  and  weaving  wool  in  their  little 
brown  houses ; the  boys  played,  fought,  ran  races  naked 
in  the  streets ; the  small  girls  had  their  quiet  games  and, 
surely,  their  dolls,  made  of  rags,  stuffed  with  the  soft 
wool  waste  from  their  mothers’  spindles  and  looms.  The 
old  men,  scarred  and  seamed  in  the  battles  of  an  age 
when  fighting  was  all  hand  to  hand,  kept  the  shops,  or 
sunned  themselves  in  the  market-place,  shelling  and 
chewing  lupins  to  pass  the  time,  as  the  Romans  have 
always  done,  and  telling  old  tales,  or  boasting  to  each 
other  of  their  half-grown  grandchildren,  and  of  their 
full-grown  sons,  fighting  far  away  in  the  hills  and  the 
plains  that  Rome  might  have  more  possession.  Mean- 
while the  maidens  went  in  pairs  to  the  springs  to  fetch 
water,  or  down  to  the  river  in  small  companies  to  wash 
the  woollen  clothes  and  dry  them  in  the  shade  of  the  old 
wild  trees,  lest  in  the  sun  they  should  shrink  and  thicken ; 


IO 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


black-haired,  black-eyed,  dark-skinned  maids,  all  of 
them,  strong  and  light  of  foot,  fit  to  be  mothers  of  more 
soldiers,  to  slay  more  enemies,  and  bring  back  more 
spoil.  Then,  as  in  our  own  times,  the  flocks  of  goats 
were  driven  in  from  the  pastures  at  early  morning 
and  milked  from  door  to  door,  for  each  household,  and 
driven  out  again  to  the  grass  before  the  sun  was  high. 
In  the  old  wall  there  was  the  Cattle  Gate,  the  Porta 
Mugonia,  named,  as  the  learned  say,  from  the  lowing 
of  the  herds.  Then,  as  in  the  hill  towns  not  long 
ago,  the  serving  women,  who  were  slaves,  sat  cross- 
legged  on  the  ground  in  the  narrow  court  within  the 
house,  with  the  hand-mill  of  two  stones  between  them, 
and  ground  the  wheat  to  flour  for  the  day’s  meal. 
There  have  been  wonderful  survivals  of  the  first  age 
even  to  our  own  time. 

But  that  which  has  not  come  down  to  us  is  the  huge 
vitality  of  those  men  and  women.  The  world’s  holders 
have  never  risen  suddenly  in  hordes ; they  have  always 
grown  by  degrees  out  of  little  nations,  that  could  live 
through  more  than  their  neighbours.  Calling  up  the 
vision  of  the  first  Rome,  one  must  see,  too,  such  human 
faces  and  figures  of  men  as  are  hardly  to  be  found 
among  us  nowadays,  — the  big  features,  the  great, 
square,  devouring  jaws,  the  steadily  bright  eyes,  the 
strongly  built  brows,  coarse,  shagged  hair,  big  bones, 
iron  muscles  and  starting  sinews.  There  are  savage 
countries  that  still  breed  such  men.  They  may  have 


The  Making  of  the  City  1 1 

their  turn  next,  when  we  are  worn  out.  Browning  has 
made  John  the  Smith  a memorable  type. 

Rome  was  a clean  city  in  those  days.  One  of  the 
Tarquins  had  built  the  great  arched  drain  which  still 
stands  unshaken  and  in  use,  and  smaller  ones  led  to  it, 
draining  the  Forum  and  all  the  low  part  of  the  town. 
The  people  were  clean,  far  beyond  our  ordinary  idea  of 
them,  as  is  plain  enough  from  the  contemptuous  way  in 
which  the  Latin  authors  use  their  strong  words  for 
uncleanliness.  A dirty  man  was  an  object  of  pity,  and 
men  sometimes  went  about  in  soiled  clothes  to  excite  the 
public  sympathy,  as  beggars  do  today  in  all  countries. 
Dirt  meant  abject  poverty,  and  in  a grasping,  getting 
race,  poverty  was  the  exception,  even  while  simplicity 
was  the  rule.  For  all  was  simple  with  them,  their  dress, 
their  homes,  their  lives,  their  motives,  and  if  one  could 
see  the  Rome  of  Tarquin  the  Proud,  this  simplicity 
would  be  of  all  characteristics  the  most  striking,  com- 
pared with  what  we  know  of  later  Rome,  and  with  what 
we  see  about  us  in  our  own  times.  Simplicity  is  not 
strength,  but  the  condition  in  which  strength  is  least 
hampered  in  its  full  action. 

It  was  easy  to  live  simply  in  such  a place  and  in  such 
a climate,  under  a wise  King.  The  check  in  the  first 
straight  run  of  Rome’s  history  brought  the  Romans 
suddenly  face  to  face  with  the  first  great  complication 
of  their  career,  which  was  the  struggle  between  the 
rich  and  the  poor ; and  again  the  half  truth  rises  up  to 


12 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


explain  the  fact.  Men  whose  first  instinct  was  to  take 
and  hold  took  from  one  another  in  peace  when  they 
could  not  take  from  their  enemies  in  war,  since  they 
must  needs  be  always  taking  from  some  one.  So  the 
few  strong  took  all  from  the  many  weak,  till  the  weak 
banded  themselves  together  to  resist  the  strong,  and  the 
struggle  for  life  took  a new  direction. 

The  grim  figure  of  Lucius  Junius  Brutus  rises  as  the 
incarnation  of  that  character  which,  at  great  times, 
made  history,  but  in  peace  made  trouble.  The  man 
who  avenged  Lucretia,  who  drove  out  the  Tarquins,  and 
founded  the  Republic,  is  most  often  remembered  as  the 
father  who  sat  unmoved  in  judgment  on  his  two  traitor 
sons,  and  looked  on  with  stony  eyes  while  they  paid  the 
price  of  their  treason  in  torment  and  death.  That  one 
deed  stands  out,  and  we  forget  how  he  himself  fell 
fighting  for  Rome’s  freedom. 

But  still  the  evil  grew  at  home,  and  the  hideous  law 
of  creditor  and  debtor,  which  only  fiercest  avarice  could 
have  devised,  ground  the  poor,  who  were  obliged  to 
borrow  to  pay  the  tax-gatherer,  and  made  slaves  of 
them  almost  to  the  ruin  of  the  state. 

Just  then  Etruria  wakes,  shadowy,  half  Greek,  the 
central  power  of  Italy,  between  Rome  and  Gaul.  Por- 
sena,  the  Lar  of  Clusium,  comes  against  the  city  with 
a great  host  in  gilded  arms.  Terror  descends  like  a 
dark  mist  over  the  young  nation.  The  rich  fear  for 
their  riches,  the  poor  for  their  lives.  In  haste-  the 


The  Making  of  the  City 


13 


fathers  gather  great  supplies  of  corn  against  a siege ; 
credit  and  debt  are  forgotten  ; patrician  and  plebeian 
join  hands  as  Porsena  reaches  Janiculum,  and  three 
heroic  figures  of  romance  stand  forth  from  a host  of 
heroes.  Horatius  keeps  the  bridge,  first  with  two 
comrades,  then,  at  the  last,  alone  in  the  glory  of  single- 
handed  fight  against  an  army,  sure  of  immortality 
whether  he  live  or  die.  Scaevola,  sworn  with  the 
three  hundred  to  slay  the  Lar,  stabs  the  wrong  man, 
and  burns  his  hand  to  the  wrist  to  show  what  tortures 
he  can  bear  unmoved.  Cloelia,  the  maiden  hostage, 
rides  her  young  steed  at  the  yellow  torrent,  and  swims 
the  raging  flood  back  to  the  Palatine.  Cloelia  and  Ho- 
ratius get  statues  in  the  Forum ; Scaevola  is  endowed 
with  great  lands,  which  his  race  holds  for  centuries, 
and  leaves  a name  so  great  that  two  thousand  years 
later,  Sforza,  greatest  leader  of  the  Middle  Age,  covet- 
ing long  ancestry,  makes  himself  descend  from  the 
man  who  burned  off  his  own  hand. 

They  are  great  figures,  the  two  men  and  the  noble 
girl,  and  real  to  us,  in  a way,  because  we  can  stand  on 
the  very  ground  they  trod,  where  Horatius  fought,  where 
Scaevola  suffered  and  where  Cloelia  took  the  river. 
They  are  nearer  to  us  than  Romulus,  nearer  even  than 
Lucretia,  as  each  figure,  following  the  city’s  quick  life, 
has  more  of  reality  about  it,  and  not  less  of  heroism. 

For  two  hundred  years  the  Romans  strove  with  each 
other  in  law  making;  the  fathers  for  exclusive  power 


14 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


and  wealth,  the  plebeians  for  freedom,  first,  and  then  for 
office  in  the  state ; a time  of  fighting  abroad  for  land, 
and  of  contention  at  home  about  its  division.  In  fifty 
years  the  poor  had  their  Tribunes,  but  it  took  them 
nearly  three  times  as  long,  after  that,  to  make  them- 
selves almost  the  fathers’  equals  in  power. 

Once  they  tried  a new  kind  of  government  by  a board 
of  ten,  and  it  held  for  a while,  till  again  a woman’s  life 
turned  the  tide  of  Roman  history,  and  fair  young  Vir- 
ginia, stabbed  by  her  father  in  the  Forum,  left  a name 
as  lasting  as  any  of  that  day. 

Romance  again,  but  the  true  romance,  above  doubt, 
at  last ; not  at  all  mythical,  but  full  of  fate’s  unanswer- 
able logic,  which  makes  dim  stories  clear  to  living  eyes. 
You  may  see  the  actors  in  the  Forum,  where  it  all 
happened, — the  lovely  girl  with  frightened,  wondering 
eyes ; the  father,  desperate,  white-lipped,  shaking  with 
the  thing  not  yet  done ; Appius  Claudius  smiling 
among  his  friends  and  clients ; the  sullen  crowd  of 
strong  plebeians,  and  the  something  in  the  chill  autumn 
air  that  was  a warning  of  fate  and  fateful  change. 
Then  the  deed.  A shriek  at  the  edge  of  the  throng ; 
a long,  thin  knife,  high  in  air,  trembling  before  a 
thousand  eyes  ; a harsh,  heartbroken,  vengeful  voice ; 
a confusion  and  a swaying  of  the  multitude,  and  then 
the  rising  yell  of  men  overlaid,  ringing  high  in  the  air 
from  the  Capitol  right  across  the  Forum  to  the  Pala- 
tine, and  echoing  back  the  doom  of  the  Ten. 


/ 


The  Making  of  the  City 


15 


The  deed  is  vivid  still,  and  then  there  is  sudden  dark- 
ness. One  thinks  of  how  that  man  lived  afterwards. 
Had  Virginius  a home,  a wife,  other  children  to  mourn 
the  dead  one  ? Or  was  he  a lonely  man,  ten  times 
alone  after  that  day,  with  the  memory  of  one  flashing 
moment  always  undimmed  in  a bright  horror  ? Who 
knows  ? Did  anyone  care  ? Rome’s  story  changed  its 
Course,  turning  aside  at  the  river  of  Virginia’s  blood, 
and  going  on  swiftly  in  another  way. 

To  defeat  this  time,  straight  to  Rome’s  first  and 
greatest  humiliation ; to  the  coming  of  the  Gauls,  sweep- 
ing everything  before  them,  Etruscans,  Italians,  Ro- 
mans, up  to  the  gates  of  the  city  and  over  the  great 
moat  and  wall  of  Servius,  burning,  destroying,  killing 
everything,  to  the  foot  of  the  central  rock ; baffled  at 
the  last  stronghold  on  a dark  night  by  a flock  of  cack- 
ling geese,  but  not  caring  for  so  small  a thing  when 
they  had  swallowed  up  the  rest,  or  not  liking  the  Latin 
land,  perhaps,  and  so,  taking  ransom  for  peace  and 
marching  away  northwards  again  through  the  starved 
and  harried  hills  and  valleys  of  Etruria  to  their  own 
country.  And  six  centuries  passed  away  before  an 
enemy  entered  Rome  again. 

But  the  Gauls  left  wreck  and  ruin  and  scarcely  one 
stone  upon  another  in  the  great  desolation  ; they  swept 
away  all  records  of  history,  then  and  there,  and  the 
general  destruction  was  absolute,  so  that  the  Rome  of 
the  Republic  and  of  the  Empire,  the  centre  and  capital 


i6 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


of  the  world,  began  to  exist  from  that  day.  Unwillingly 
the  people  bore  back  Juno’s  image  from  Veii,  where 
they  had  taken  refuge  and  would  have  stayed,  and  built 
houses,  and  would  have  called  that  place  Rome.  But 
the  nobles  had  their  own  way,  and  the  great  construc- 
tion began,  of  which  there  was  to  be  no  end  for  many 
hundreds  of  years,  in  peace  and  war,  mostly  while 
hard  fighting  was  going  on  abroad. 


ETRUSCAN  BRIDGE  AT  VEII 


They  built  hurriedly  at  first,  for  shelter,  and  as  best 
they  could,  crowding  their  little  houses  in  narrow 
streets  with  small  care  for  symmetry  or  adornment. 
The  second  Rome  must  have  seemed  but  a poor  village 
compared  with  the  solidly  built  city  which  the  Gauls 
had  burnt,  and  it  was  long  before  the  present  could 
compare  with  the  past.  In  haste  men  seized  on  frag- 
ments of  all  sorts,  blocks  of  stone,  cracked  and  defaced 


/ 


The  Making  of  the  City 


l7 


in  the  flames,  charred  beams  that  could  still  serve,  a 
door  here,  a window  there,  and  such  bits  of  metal  as 
they  could  pick  up.  An  irregular,  crowded  town 
sprang  up,  and  a few  rough  temples,  no  doubt  as  pied 
and  meanly  pieced  as  many  of  those  early  churches 
built  of  odds  and  ends  of  ruin,  which  stand  to  this  day. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  the  motley  character  of 
Rome,  of  which  all  writers  speak  in  one  way  or  another, 
had  its  first  cause  in  that  second  building  of  the  city. 
Rome  without  ruins  would  hardly  seem  Rome  at  all, 
and  all  was  ruined  in  that  first  inroad  of  the  savage 
Gauls,  — houses,  temples,  public  places.  When  the 
Romans  came  back  from  Veii  they  must  have  found 
the  Forum  not  altogether  unlike  what  it  is  today,  but 
blackened  with  smoke,  half  choked  with  mouldering 
humanity,  strewn  with  charred  timbers,  broken  roof 
tiles  and  the  wreck  of  much  household  furniture;  a 
sorrowful  confusion  reeking  with  vapours  of  death,  and 
pestilential  with  decay.  It  was  no  wonder  that  the 
poor  plebeians  lost  heart  and  would  have  chosen  to  go 
back  to  the  clear  streets  and  cleaner  air  of  Veii.  Their 
little  houses  were  lost  and  untraceable  in  the  universal 
chaos.  But  the  rich  man’s  ruins  stood  out  in  bolder 
relief ; he  had  his  lands  still ; he  still  had  slaves ; he 
could  rebuild  his  home  ; and  he  had  his  way. 

But  ever  afterwards,  though  the  Republic  and  the 
Empire  spent  the  wealth  of  nations  in  beautifying  the 
city,  the  trace  of  that  first  defeat  remained.  Dark  and 


VOL.  I 


c 


1 8 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


narrow  lanes  wound  in  and  out,  round  the  great  public 
squares,  and  within  earshot  of  the  broad  white  streets, 
and  the  time-blackened  houses  of  the  poor  stood  hud- 
dled out  of  sight  behind  the  palaces  of  the  rich,  making 
perpetual  contrast  of  wealth  and  poverty,  splendour 
and  squalor,  just  as  one  may  see  today  in  Rome,  in 
London,  in  Paris,  in  Constantinople,  in  all  the  mistress 
"cities  of  the  world  that  have  long  histories  of  triumph 
and  defeat  behind  them. 

The  first  Rome  sprang  from  the  ashes  of  the  Alban 
volcano,  the  second  Rome  rose  from  the  ashes  of 
herself,  as  she  has  risen  again  and  again  since  then. 
But  the  Gauls  had  done  Rome  a service,  too.  In 
crushing  her  to  the  earth,  they  had  crushed  many  of 
her  enemies  out  of  existence ; and  when  she  stood  up 
to  face  the  world  once  more,  she  fought  not  to  beat 
the  yEquians  or  the  Etruscans  at  her  gates,  but  to  con- 
quer Italy.  And  by  steady  fighting  she  won  it  all,  and 
brought  home  the  spoils  and  divided  the  lands ; here 
and  there  a battle  lost,  as  in  the  bloody  Caudine  pass, 
but  always  more  battles  won,  and  more,  and  more, 
sternly  relentless  to  revolt.  Brutus  had  seen  his  own 
sons’  heads  fall  at  his  own  word;  should  Caius  Pontius, 
the  Samnite,  be  spared,  because  he  was  the  bravest 
of  the  brave?  To  her  faithful  friends  Rome  was  just, 
and  now  and  then  half-contemptuously  generous. 

The  idle  Greek  fine  gentlemen  of  Tarentum  sat  in 
their  theatre  one  day,  overlooking  the  sea,  shaded 


/ 


The  Making  of  the  City 


19 


by  dyed  awnings  from  the  afternoon  sun,  listening 
entranced  to  some  grand  play,  — the  CEdipus  King, 
perhaps,  or  Alcestis,  or  Medea.  Ten  Roman  trading 
ships  came  sailing  round  the  point ; and  the  wind 
failed,  and  they  lay  there  with  drooping  sails,  waiting 
for  the  land  breeze  that  springs  up  at  night.  Perhaps 
some  rough  Latin  sailor,  as  is  the  way  today  in  calm 
weather  when  there  is  no  work  to  be  done,  began  to 
howl  out  one  of  those  strange,  endless  songs  which 
have  been  sung  down  to  us,  from  ear  to  ear,  out  of 
the  primeval  Aryan  darkness,  — loud,  long  drawn  out, 
exasperating  in  its  unfinished  cadence,  jarring  on  the 
refined  Greek  ear,  discordant  with  the  actor’s  finely 
measured  tones.  In  sudden  rage  at  the  noise  — so  it 
must  have  been  — those  delicate  idlers  sprang  up  and 
ran  down  to  the  harbour,  and  took  the  boats  that  lay 
there,  and  overwhelmed  the  unarmed  Roman  traders, 
slaying  many  of  them.  Foolish,  cruel,  almost  comic. 
So  a sensitive  musician,  driven  half  mad  by  a street 
organ,  longs  to  rush  out  and  break  the  thing  to  pieces, 
and  kill  the  poor  grinder  for  his  barbarous  noise. 

But  when  there  was  blood  in  the  harbour  of  Taren- 
tum,  and  some  of  the  ships  had  escaped  on  their 
oars,  the  Greeks  were  afraid;  and  when  the  message 
of  war  came  swiftly  down  to  them  from  inexorable 
Rome,  their  terror  grew,  and  they  sent  to  Pyrrhus  of 
Epirus,  who  had  set  up  to  be  a conqueror,  to  come 
and  conquer  Rome  for  the  sake  of  certain  aesthetic 


20 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


fine  gentlemen  who  could  not  bear  to  be  disturbed  at  a 
good  play  on  a spring  afternoon.  He  came  with  all 
the  pomp  and  splendour  of  Eastern  warfare ; he  won 
a battle,  and  a battle,  and  half  a battle,  and  then  the 
Romans  beat  him  at  Beneventum,  famous  again  and 
again,  and  utterly  destroyed  his  army,  and  took  back 
with  them  his  gold  and  his  jewels,  and  the  tusks  of 
his  elephants,  and  the  mastery  of  all  Italy  to  boot, 
but  not  yet  beyond  dispute. 

Creeping  down  into  Sicily,  Rome  met  Carthage, 
both  giants  in  those  days,  and  the  greatest  and  last 
struggle  began,  with  half  the  known  world  and  all  the 
known  sea  for  a battle-ground.  Round  and  round  the 
Mediterranean,  by  water  and  land,  they  fought  for  a 
hundred  and  eighteen  years,  through  four  generations 
of  men,  as  we  should  reckon  it,  both  grasping  and 
strong,  both  relentless,  both  sworn  to  win  or  perish  for 
ever,  both  doing  great  deeds  that  are  remembered  still. 
The  mere  name  of  Regulus  is  a legion  of  legends  in 
itself ; the  name  of  Hannibal  is  in  itself  a history,  that 
of  Fabius  Maximus  a lesson;  and  while  history  lasts, 
Cornelius  Scipio  and  Scipio  the  African  will  not  be 
forgotten.  It  is  the  story  of  many  and  terrible  defeats, 
from  each  of  which  Rome  rose,  fiercely  young,  to  win 
a dozen  terrible  little  victories.  It  is  strange  that  we 
remember  the  lost  days  best ; misty  Thrasymene  and 
Cannae’s  fearful  slaughter  rise  first  in  the  memory. 
Then  all  at  once,  within  ten  years,  the  scale  turns, 


/ 


The  Making  of  the  City 

O J 


2 I 


and  Caius  Claudius  Nero  hurls  Hasdrubal’s  disfigured 
head  high  over  ditch  and  palisade  into  his  brother’s 
camp,  right  to  his  brother’s  feet.  And  five  years  later, 
the  battle  of  Zama,  won  almost  at  the  gates  of  Car- 
thage; and  then,  almost  the  end,  as  great  heartbroken 
Hannibal,  defeated,  ruined  and  exiled,  drinks  up  the 
poison  and  rests  at  last,  some  forty  years  after  he 
led  his  first  army  to  victory.  But  he  had  been  dead 
nearly  forty  years,  when  another  Scipio  at  last  tore 
down  the  walls  of  Carthage,  and  utterly  destroyed  the 
city  to  the  foundations,  for  ever.  And  a dozen  years 
later  than  that,  Rome  had  conquered  all  the  civilized 
world  round  about  the  Mediterranean  sea,  from  Spain 
to  Asia. 


TOMBS  ON  THE  APP1AN  WAY 


II 

There  was  a mother  in  Rome,  not  rich,  but  of  great 
race,  for  she  was  daughter  to  Scipio  of  Africa ; and  she 
called  her  sons  her  jewels  when  other  women  showed 
their  golden  ornaments  and  their  precious  stones  and 
boasted  of  their  husbands’  wealth.  Cornelia’s  two 
sons,  Tiberius  and  Caius,  lost  their  lives  successively  in 
a struggle  against  the  avarice  of  the  rich  men  who 
ruled  Rome,  Italy  and  the  world ; against  that  grasping 
avarice  which  far  surpassed  the  greed  of  any  other  race 
before  the  Romans,  or  after  them,  and  which  had  sud- 
denly taken  new  growth  as  the  spoils  of  the  East  and 
South  and  West  poured  into  the  city.  Yet  the  vast 
booty  men  could  see  was  but  an  earnest  of  the  wide 
lands  which  had  fallen  to  Rome,  called  ‘ Public  Lands  ’ 
almost  as  if  in  derision,  while  they  fell  into  the  power 


22 


/ 


The  Empire  23 

of  the  few  and  strong,  by  the  hundred  thousand  acres 
at  a time. 

Three  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  the  Gracchi, 
when  little  conquests  still  seemed  great,  Spurius  Cassius 
had  died  in  defence  of  his  Agrarian  Law,  at  the  hands 
of  the  savage  rich  who  accused  him  of  conspiring  for  a 
crown.  Tiberius  Gracchus  set  up  the  rights  of  the 
people  to  the  public  land,  and  perished. 

He  fell  within  a stone’s  throw  of  the  spot  on  which 
the  great  tribune,  Nicholas  Rienzi,  died.  The  strong, 
small  band  of  nobles,  armed  with  staves  and  clubs,  and 
with  that  supremacy  of  contemptuous  bearing  that 
cows  the  simple,  plough  their  way  through  the  rioting 
throng,  murderously  clubbing  to  right  and  left.  Tibe- 
rius, retreating,  stumbles  against  a corpse  and  his  ene- 
mies are  upon  him ; a stave  swung  high  in  air,  a dull 
blow,  and  all  is  finished  for  that  day,  save  to  throw 
the  body  into  the  Tiber  lest  the  people  should  make 
a revolution  of  its  funeral. 

Next  came  Caius,  a boy  of  six  and  twenty,  fighting 
the  same  fight  for  a few  years.  On  his  head  the  nobles 
set  a price  — its  weight  in  gold.  He  hides  on  the 
Aventine,  and  the  Aventine  is  stormed.  He  escapes 
by  the  Sublician  bridge  and  the  bridge  is  held  behind 
him  by  one  friend,  almost  as  Horatius  held  it  against 
an  army.  Yet  the  nobles  and  their  hired  Cretan  bow- 
men force  the  way  and  pursue  him  into  Furina's  grove. 
There  a Greek  slave  ends  him,  and  to  get  more  gold 


24 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


BRASS  OF  TIBERIUS,  SHOWING 
THE  TEMPLE  OF  CONCORD 


fills  the  poor  head  with  metal  — and  is  paid  in  full. 
Three  hundred  died  with  Tiberius,  three  thousand  were 
put  to  death  for  his  brother’s  sake.  With  the  goods 

of  the  slain  and  the  dowries 
of  their  wives,  Opimius  built 
the  Temple  of  Concord  on 
the  spot  where  the  later  one 
still  stands  in  part,  between 
the  Comitium  and  the  Capi- 
tol. The  poor  of  Rome,  and 
Cornelia,  and  the  widows 
and  children  of  the  murdered 
men,  knew  what  that  ‘ Con- 
cord ’ meant. 

Then  followed  revolution,  war  with  runaway  slaves, 
war  with  the  immediate  allies,  then  civil  war,  while 
wealth  and  love  of  wealth  grew  side  by  side,  the  one, 
insatiate,  devouring  the  other. 

First  the  slaves  made  for  Sicily,  wild,  mountainous, 
half-governed  then  as  it  is  today,  and  they  held  much 
of  it  against  their  masters  for  five  years.  Within  short 
memory,  almost  yesterday,  a handful  of  outlaws  has 
defied  a powerful  nation’s  best  soldiers  in  the  same 
mountains.  It  is  small  wonder  that  many  thousand 
men,  fighting  for  liberty  and  life,  should  have  held  out 
so  long. 

And  meanwhile  Jugurtha  of  Numidia  had  for  long 
years  bought  every  Roman  general  sent  against  him, 


/ 


The  Empire 


25 


had  come  to  Rome  himself  and  bought  the  laws,  and 
had  gone  back  to  his  country  with  contemptuous 
leave-taking  — ‘ Thou  city  where  all  is  sold  ! ’ And 
still  he  bought,  till  Caius  Marius,  high-hearted  plebeian 
and  great  soldier,  brought  him  back  to  die  in  the 
Mamertine  prison. 

Then  against  wealth  arose  the  last  and  greatest  power 
of  Rome,  her  terrible  armies  that  set  up  whom  they 
would,  to  have  their  will  of  Senate  and  fathers  and 
people.  First  Marius,  then  Sylla  whom  he  had  taught 
to  fight,  and  taught  to  beat  him  in  the  end,  after  Cinna 
had  been  murdered  for  his  sake  at  Ancona. 

Marius  and  Sylla,  the  plebeian  and  the  patrician, 
were  matched  at  first  as  leader  and  lieutenant,  then 
both  as  conquerors,  then  as  alternate  despots  of  Rome 
and  mortal  foes,  till  their  long  duel  wrecked  what  had 
been  and  opened  ways  for  what  was  to  be. 

First,  Sylla  claims  that  he,  and  not  Marius,  took 
Jugurtha,  when  the  Numidian  ally  betrayed  him,  though 
the  King  and  his  two  sons  marched  in  the  train  of  the 
plebeian’s  triumph.  Marius  answers  by  a stupendous 
victory  over  the  Cimbrians  and  Teutons,  slays  a hun- 
dred thousand  in  one  battle,  comes  home,  triumphs 
again,  sets  up  his  trophies  in  the  city  and  builds  a 
temple  to  Honour  and  Courage.  Next,  in  greed  of 
popular  power,  he  perjures  himself  to  support  a pair 
of  murderous  demagogues,  betrays  them  in  turn  to  the 
patricians,  and  Saturninus  is  pounded  to  death  with 


26 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


roof  tiles  in  the  Capitol.  Then,  being  made  leader  in 
the  war  with  the  allies,  already  old  for  fighting,  he 
fails  at  the  outset,  and  his  rival  Sylla  is  General  in 
his  stead. 

Then  riot  on  riot  in  the  Forum,  violence  after  vio- 
lence in  the  struggle  for  the  consulship,  murder  after 
murder,  blood  upon  blood  not  yet  dry.  Sylla  gets  the 
expedition  against  Mithridates ; Marius,  at  home,  un- 
dermines his  enemy’s  influence  and  forces  the  tribes  to 
give  him  the  command,  and  sends  out  his  lieutenants  to 
the  East.  Sylla’s  soldiers  murder  them,  and  Sylla 
marches  back  against  Rome  with  six  legions.  Marius 
is  unprepared ; Sylla  breaks  into  the  city,  torch  in 
hand,  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  burning  and  slaying ; 
the  rivals  meet  face  to  face  in  the  Esquiline  market- 
place, Roman  fights  Roman,  and  the  plebeian  loses 
the  day  and  escapes  to  the  sea. 

The  reign  of  terror  begins,  and  a great  slaying. 
Sylla  declares  his  rival  an  enemy  of  Rome,  and  Marius 
is  found  hiding  in  the  marshes  of  Minturnse,  is  dragged 
out  naked,  covered  with  mud,  a rope  about  his  neck, 
and  led  into  a little  house  of  the  town  to  be  slain  by  a 
slave.  ‘ Darest  thou  kill  Caius  Marius  ? ’ asks  the  old 
man  with  flashing  eyes,  and  the  slave  executioner 
trembles  before  the  unarmed  prisoner.  They  let  him 
go.  He  wanders  to  Africa  and  sits  alone  among  the 
ruins  of  Carthage,  while  Sylla  fights  victoriously  in  the 
East.  Rome,  momentarily  free  of  both,  is  torn  by 


/ 


The  Empire 


27 


dissensions  about  the  voting  of  the  newly  enfranchised. 
Instead  of  the  greater  rivals,  Cinna  and  Octavius  are 
matched  for  plebs  and  nobles.  Knife-armed  the  parties 
fight  it  out  in  the  Forum,  the  bodies  of  citizens  lie  in 
heaps,  and  the  gutters  are  gorged  with  free  blood,  and 
again  the  patricians  win  the  day.  Cinna,  fleeing  from 
wrath,  is  deposed  from  office.  Marius  sees  his  chance 
again.  Unshaven  and  unshorn  since  he  left  Rome 
last,  he  joins  Cinna,  leading  six  thousand  fugitives, 
seizes  and  plunders  the  towns  about  Rome,  while  Cinna 
encamps  beneath  the  walls.  Together  they  enter  Rome 
and  nail  Octavius’  head  to  the  Rostra.  Then  the  ven- 
geance of  wholesale  slaying,  in  another  reign  of  terror, 
and  Marius  is  despot  of  the  city  for  a while,  as  Sylla 
had  been  before,  till  spent  with  age,  his  life  goes  out 
amid  drunkenness  and  blood.  The  people  tear  down 
Sylla’s  house,  burn  his  villa  and  drive  out  his  wife  and 
his  children.  Back  he  comes  after  four  years,  victori- 
ous, fighting  his  way  right  and  left,  against  Lucanians 
and  Samnites,  back  to  Rome  still  fighting  them,  almost 
loses  the  battle,  is  saved  by  Crassus  to  take  vengeance 
again,  and  again  the  long  lists  of  the  proscribed  are 
written  out  and  hung  up  in  the  Forum,  and  the  city 
runs  blood  in  a third  Terror.  Amid  heaps  of  severed 
heads,  Sylla  sits  before  the  temple  of  Castor  and  sells 
the  lands  of  his  dead  enemies ; and  Catiline  is  first 
known  to  history  as  the  executioner  of  Caius  Gratidianus, 
whom  he  slices  to  death,  piecemeal,  beyond  the  Tiber. 


28 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


THE  TARPEIAN  ROCK 


Sylla,  cold,  aristocratic,  sublimely  ironical  monster, 
was  Rome’s  first  absolute  and  undisputed  military  lord. 
Tired  of  blood,  he  tried  reform,  invented  an  aristocratic 
constitution,  saw  that  it  must  fail,  and  then,  to  the 
amazement  of  his  friends  and  enemies,  abdicated  and 
withdrew  to  private  life,  protected  by  a hundred  thou- 
sand veterans  of  his  army,  and  many  thousands  of 
freedmen,  to  die  at  the  last  without  violence. 


/ 


The  Empire  29 

Of  the  chaos  he  left  behind  him,  Caesar  made  the 
Roman  Empire. 

The  Gracchi,  champions  of  the  people,  were  foully 
done  to  death.  Marius  and  Sylla,  tearing  the  proud 
Republic  to  pieces  for  their  own  greatness,  both  died 
in  their  beds,  the  one  of  old  age,  the  other  of  disease. 
There  is  no  irony  like  that  which  often  ended  the 
lives  of  great  Romans.  Marcus  Manlius,  who  saved 
the  Capitol  from  the  Gauls,  was  hurled  to  his  death 
from  the  same  rock,  by  the  tribunes  of  the  people, 
and  Rome’s  citadel  and  sanctuary  was  desecrated  by 
the  blood  of  its  preserver.  Scipio  of  Africa  breathed 
his  last  in  exile,  but  Appius  Claudius,  the  Decemvir, 
died  rich  and  honoured. 

One  asks,  naturally  enough,  how  Rome  could  hold  the 
civilized  nations  in  subjection  while  she  was  fighting  out 
a civil  war  that  lasted  fifty  years.  We  have  but  little  idea 
of  her  great  military  organization,  after  arms  became 
a profession  and  a career.  We  can  but  call  up  scat- 
tered pictures  to  show  us  rags  and  fragments  of  the  im- 
mense host  that  patrolled  the  world  with  measured  tread 
and  matchless  precision  of  serried  rank,  in  tens  and 
scores  and  hundreds  of  thousands,  for  centuries,  shoul- 
der to  shoulder  and  flank  to  flank,  learning  its  own 
strength  by  degrees,  till  it  suddenly  grasped  all  power, 
gave  it  to  one  man,  and  made  Caius  Julius  Caesar  Dic- 
tator of  the  earth. 

The  greatest  figure  in  all  history  suddenly  springs  out 


30 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


of  the  dim  chaos  and  shines  in  undying  glory,  the  figure 
of  a man  so  great  that  the  office  he  held  means  Empire, 
and  the  mere  name  he  bore  means  Emperor  today  in 
four  empires,  — Caesar,  Kaiser,  Czar,  Kaisar,  — a man 
of  so  vast  power  that  the  history  of  humanity  for  cen- 
turies after  him  was  the  history  of  those  who  were 
chosen  to  fill  his  place  — the  history  of  nearly  half 
the  twelve  centuries  foretold  by  the  augur  Attus,  from 
Romulus,  first  King,  to  Romulus  Augustulus,  last  Em- 
peror. He  was  a man  whose  deeds  and  laws  have 
marked  out  the  life  of  the  world  even  to  this  far  day. 
Before  him  and  with  him  comes  Pompey,  with  him 
and  after  him  Mark  Antony,  next  to  him  in  line  and 
greatness,  Augustus  — all  dwarfs  compared  with  him, 
while  two  of  them  were  failures  outright,  and  the  third 
could  never  have  reached  power  but  in  his  steps. 

In  that  long  tempest  of  parties  wherein  the  Republic 
went  down  for  ever,  it  is  hard  to  trace  the  truth,  or  num- 
ber the  slain,  or  reckon  up  account  of  gain  and  loss. 
But  when  Caesar  rises  in  the  centre  of  the  storm  the  end 
is  sure  and  there  can  be  no  other,  for  he  drives  it  before 
him  like  a captive  whirlwind,  to  do  his  bidding  and  clear 
the  earth  for  his  coming.  Other  men,  and  great  men, 
too,  are  overwhelmed  by  it,  dashed  down  and  stunned 
out  of  all  sense  and  judgment,  to  be  lost  and  forgotten 
like  leaves  in  autumn,  whirled  away  before  the  gale. 
Pompey,  great  general  and  great  statesman,  conqueror 
in  Spain,  subduer  of  Spartacus  and  the  Gladiators,  de- 


/ 


WBzSfflSMm  II  £ 


The  Empire 


3i 


stroyer  of  pirates  and  final  victor  over  Mithridates, 
comes  back  and  lives  as  a simple  citizen.  Noble  of 
birth,  but  not  trusted  by  his  peers,  he  joins  with  Caesar, 
leader  of  all  the  people,  and  with  Crassus,  for  more 
power,  and  loses  the  world  by  giving  Caesar  an  army, 
and  Gaul  to  conquer.  Crassus,  brave  general,  too,  is 
slain  in  battle  in  far  Parthia,  and  Pompey  steals  a 
march  by  getting  a long  term  in  Spain.  Caesar  de- 
mands as  much  and  is  refused  by  Pompey’s  friends. 
Then  the  storm  breaks  and  Caesar  comes  back  from 
Gaul  to  cross  the  Rubicon,  and  take  all  Italy  in  sixty 
days.  Pompey,  ambitious,  ill-starred,  fights  losing  bat- 
tles everywhere.  Murdered  at  last  in  Egypt,  he,  too,  is 
dead,  and  Caesar  stands  alone,  master  of  Rome  and  of 
the  world.  One  year  he  ruled,  and  then  they  slew  him ; 
but  no  one  of  them  that  struck  him  died  a natural  death. 

Creation  presupposes  chaos,  and  it  is  the  divine  pre- 
rogative of  genius  to  evolve  order  from  confusion. 
Julius  Caesar  found  the  world  of  his  day  consisting  of 
disordered  elements  of  strength,  all  at  strife  with  each 
other  in  a central  turmoil,  skirted  and  surrounded  by 
the  relative  peace  of  an  ancient  and  long  undisturbed 
barbarism. 

It  was  out  of  these  elements  that  he  created  what  has 
become  modern  Europe,  and  the  direction  which  he 
gave  to  the  evolution  of  mankind  has  never  wholly 
changed  since  his  day.  Of  all  great  conquerors  he  was 
the  least  cruel,  for  he  never  sacrificed  human  life  with- 


32 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


out  the  direct  intention  of  benefiting  mankind  by  an  in- 
creased social  stability.  Of  all  great  lawgivers,  he  was 
the  most  wise  and  just,  and  the  truths  he  set  down 
in  the  Julian  Code  are  the  foundation  of  modern  jus- 
tice. Of  all  great  men  who  have  leaped  upon  the 
world  as  upon  an  unbroken  horse,  who  have  guided 
it  with  relentless  hands,  and  ridden  it  breathless  to 
the  goal  of  glory,  Caesar  is  the  only  one  who  turned 
the  race  into  the  track  of  civilization  and,  dying,  left 
mankind  a future  in  the  memory  of  his  past.  He  is 
the  one  great  man  of  all,  without  whom  it  is  impossible 
to  imagine  history.  We  cannot  take  him  away  and 
yet  leave  anything  of  what  we  have.  The  world  could 
have  been  as  it  is  without  Alexander,  without  Charle- 
magne, without  Napoleon;  it  could  not  have  been  the 
world  we  know  without  Caius  Julius  Caesar. 

That  fact  alone  places  him  at  the  head  of  mankind. 

In  Caesar’s  life  there  is  the  same  matter  for  astonish- 
ment as  in  Napoleon’s;  there  is  the  vast  disproportion 
between  beginnings  and  climax,  between  the  relative 
modesty  of  early  aims  and  the  stupendous  magnitude 
of  the  climacteric  result.  One  asks  how  in  a few 
years  the  impecunious  son  of  the  Corsican  notary  be- 
came the  world’s  despot,  and  how  the  fashionable 
young  spendthrift  lawyer  of  Rome,  dabbling  in  poli- 
tics and  almost  ignorant  of  warfare,  rose  in  a quarter 
of  a century  to  be  the  world’s  conqueror,  lawgiver  and 
civilizer.  The  daily  miracle  of  genius  is  the  incalcu- 


/ 


The  Empire 


33 


lable  speed  at  which  it  simultaneously  thinks  and  acts. 
Nothing  is  so  logical  as  creation,  and  creation  is  the  first 
sign  as  well  as  the  only  proof  that  genius  is  present. 

Hitherto  the  life  of  Caesar  has  not  been  logically  pre- 
sented. His  youth  appears  almost  always  to  be  totally 
disconnected  from  his  maturity.  The  first  success,  the 
conquest  of  Gaul,  comes  as  a surprise,  because  its  prep- 
aration is  not  described.  After  it  everything  seems 
natural,  and  conquest  follows  victory  as  daylight  follows 
dawn ; but  when  we  try  to  think  backwards  from  that 
first  expedition,  we  either  see  nothing  clearly,  or  we  find 
Caesar  an  insignificant  unit  in  a general  disorder,  as  hard 
to  identify  as  an  individual  ant  in  a swarming  ant-hill. 
In  the  lives  of  all  ‘great  men,’  which  are  almost  always 
totally  unlike  the  lives  of  the  so-called  ‘great/  — those 
born,  not  to  power,  but  in  power,  — there  is  a point 
which  must  inevitably  be  enigmatical.  It  may  be  called 
the  Hour  of  Fate — the  time  when  in  the  suddenly  loosed 
play  of  many  circumstances,  strained  like  springs  and 
held  back  upon  themselves,  a man  who  has  been  known 
to  a few  thousands  finds  himself  the  chief  of  millions 
and  the  despot  of  a nation. 

Things  which  are  only  steps  to  great  men  are 
magnified  to  attainments  in  ordinary  lives,  and  re- 
membered with  pride.  The  man  of  genius  is  sure  of 
the  great  result,  if  he  can  but  get  a fulcrum  for  his 
lever.  What  strikes  one  most  in  the  careers  of  such 
men  as  Caesar  and  Napoleon  is  the  tremendous 


VOL.  i 


D 


34 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


advance  realized  at  the  first  step  — the  difference  be- 
tween Napoleon’s  half-subordinate  position  before  the 
first  campaign  in  Italy  and  his  dominion  of  France 
immediately  after  it,  or  the  distance  which  separated 
Caesar,  the  impeached  Consul,  from  Caesar,  the  con- 
queror of  Gaul. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Caesar  came  of  a family 
that  had  held  great  positions,  and  which,  though  im- 
poverished, still  had  credit,  subsequently  stretched  by 
Caesar  to  the  extreme  limit  of  its  borrowing  power.  At 
sixteen,  an  age  when  Bonaparte  was  still  an  unknown 
student,  Caesar  was  Flamen  Dialis,  or  high  priest  of 
Jupiter,  and  at  one  and  twenty,  the  ‘ill-girt  boy,’  as 
Sylla  called  him  from  his  way  of  wearing  his  toga,  was 
important  enough  to  be  driven  from  Rome,  a fugitive. 
His  first  attempt  at  a larger  notoriety  had  failed,  and 
Dolabella,  whom  he  had  impeached,  had  been  acquitted 
through  the  influence  of  friends.  Yet  the  young  lawyer 
had  found  the  opportunity  of  showing  what  he  could  do, 
and  it  was  not  without  reason  that  Sylla  said  of  him, 

‘ You  will  find  many  a Marius  in  this  one  Caesar.’ 

Twenty  years  passed  before  the  prophecy  began  to 
be  realized  with  the  commencement  of  Caesar’s  career 
in  Gaul,  and  more  than  once  during  that  time  his  life 
seemed  a failure  in  his  own  eyes,  and  he  said  scornfully 
and  sadly  of  himself  that  he  had  done  nothing  to  be 
remembered  at  an  age  when  Alexander  had  already 
conquered  the  world. 


The  Empire 


35 


Those  twenty  years  which,  to  the  thoughtful  man,  are 
by  far  the  most  interesting  of  all,  appear  in  history  as  a 
confused  and  shapeless  medley  of  political,  military  and 
forensic  activity,  strongly  coloured  by  social  scandals, 
which  rested  upon  a foundation  of  truth,  and  darkened 
by  accusations  of  worse  kind,  for  which  there  is  no  sort 
of  evidence,  and  which  may  be  safely  attributed  to  the 
jealousy  of  unscrupulous  adversaries. 

The  first  account  of  him,  which  we  have  in  the  seven- 
teenth year  of  his  age,  evokes  a picture  of  youthful 
beauty.  The  boy  who  is  to  win  the  world  is  appointed 
high  priest  of  Jove  in  Rome, — by  what  strong  influence 
we  know  not, — and  we  fancy  the  splendid  youth  with 
his  tall  figure,  full  of  elastic  endurance,  the  brilliant  face, 
the  piercing,  bold,  black  eyes ; we  see  him  with  the  small 
mitre  set  back  upon  the  dark  and  curling  locks  that 
grow  low  on  the  forehead,  as  hair  often  does  that  is  to 
fall  early,  clad  in  the  purple  robe  of  his  high  office, 
summoning  all  his  young  dignity  to  lend  importance  to 
his  youthful  grace  as  he  moves  up  to  Jove’s  high  altar 
to  perform  his  first  solemn  sacrifice  with  his  young  con- 
sort; for  the  high  priesthood  of  Jove  was  held  jointly 
by  man  and  wife,  and  if  the  wife  died  the  husband  lost 
his  office. 

He  was  about  twenty  when  he  cast  his  lot  with 
the  people,  and  within  the  year  he  fled  from  Sylla’s 
persecution.  The  life  of  sudden  changes  and  contrasts 
had  begun.  Straight  from  the  sacred  office,  with  all 


36  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

its  pomp,  and  splendour,  and  solemnity,  Caesar  is  a 
fugitive  in  the  Sabine  hills,  homeless,  wifeless,  fever- 
stricken,  a price  on  his  head.  Such  quick  chances  of 
evil  fell  to  many  in  the  days  of  the  great  struggle 
between  Marius  and  Sylla,  between  the  people  and 

the  nobles. 

Then  as  Sylla 
yielded  to  the  insist- 
ence of  the  young 
‘populist’  nobleman’s 
many  friends,  the 
quick  reverse  is 

turned  to  us.  Caesar 
has  a military  com- 
mand, sees  some 

fighting  and  much 
idleness  by  the  shores 
of  the  Bosphorus,  in 
Bithynia  — then  in  a 
fit  of  sudden  energy, 
the  soldier’s  spirit 
rises ; he  dashes  to 
the  attack  on  Mytilene,  and  shows  himself  a man. 

One  or  two  unimportant  campaigns,  as  a subordinate 
officer,  a civic  crown  won  for  personal  bravery,  an 
unsuccessful  action  brought  against  a citizen  of  high 
rank  in  the  hope  of  forcing  himself  into  notice,  a trip 
to  Rhodes  made  to  escape  the  disgrace  of  failure,  and 

% 


CAIUS  JULIUS  CAESAR 


After  a statue  in  the  Palazzo  dei 
Conservatori 


The  Empire 


37 


an  adventure  with  pirates  — there,  in  a few  words,  is  the 
story  of  Julius  Caesar’s  youth,  as  history  tells  it.  But 
then  suddenly,  when  his  projected  studies  in  quiet 
Rhodes  were  hardly  begun,  he  crosses  to  the  mainland, 
raises  troops,  seizes  cities,  drives  Mithridates’  governor 
out  of  the  province,  returns  to  Rome  and  is  elected 
military  tribune.  The  change  is  too  quick,  and  one 
does  not  understand  it.  Truth  should  tell  that  those 
early  years  had  been  spent  in  the  profound  study  of 
philosophy,  history,  biography,  languages  and  mankind, 
of  the  genesis  of  events  from  the  germ  to  the  branch- 
ing tree,  of  that  chemistry  of  fate  which  brews  effect 
out  of  cause,  and  distils  the  imperishable  essence  of 
glory  from  the  rougher  liquor  of  vulgar  success. 

What  strikes  one  most  in  the  lives  of  the  very  great 
is  that  every  action  has  a cumulative  force  beyond  what 
it  ever  has  in  the  existence  of  ordinary  men.  Success 
moves  onward,  passing  through  events  on  the  same 
plane,  as  it  were,  and  often  losing  brilliancy  till  it  fades 
away,  leaving  those  who  have  had  it  to  outlive  it  in  sor- 
row and  weakness.  Genius  moves  upward,  treading 
events  under  its  feet,  scaling  Olympus,  making  a ladder 
of  mankind,  outlasting  its  own  activity  for  ever  in  a final 
and  fixed  glory  more  splendid  than  its  own  bright  path. 
The  really  great  man  gathers  power  in  action,  the  aver- 
age successful  man  expends  it. 

And  so  it  must  be  understood  that  Caesar,  in  his  early 
youth,  was  not  wasting  his  gifts  in  what  seemed  to  be  a 


3» 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


half-voluptuous,  half-adventurous,  wholly  careless  life, 
but  was  accumulating  strength  by  absorbing  into  him- 
self the  forces  with  which  he  came  in  contact,  exhaust- 
ing the  intelligence  of  his  companions  in  order  to  stock 
his  own,  learning  everything  simultaneously,  forgetting 
nothing  he  learned  till  he  could  use  all  he  knew  to  the 
extreme  limit  of  its  value. 

There  is  something  mysterious  in  the  almost  unlim- 
ited credit  which  Caesar  seems  to  have  enjoyed  when 
still  a very  young  man ; and  if  the  control  of  enormous 
sums  of  money  by  which  he  made  himself  beloved 
among  the  people  explains,  in  a measure,  his  rapid  rise 
from  office  to  office,  it  is,  on  the  other  hand,  hard  to 
account  for  the  trust  which  his  creditors  placed  in  his 
promises,  and  to  explain  why,  when  he  was  taken  by 
pirates,  the  cities  of  Asia  Minor  should  have  voluntarily 
contributed  money  to  make  up  the  ransom  demanded, 
seeing  that  he  had  never  served  in  Asia,  except  as  a 
subordinate.  The  only  possible  explanation  is  that 
while  there,  his  real  energies  were  devoted  to  the  attain- 
ment of  the  greatest  possible  popularity  in  the  shortest 
possible  time,  and  that  he  was  making  himself  beloved 
by  the  Asiatic  cities,  while  his  enemies  said  of  him  that 
he  was  wasting  his  time  in  idleness  and  dissipation. 

In  any  case,  it  was  the  control  of  money  that  most 
helped  him  in  obtaining  high  offices  in  Rome,  and  from 
the  very  first  he  seems  to  have  acted  on  the  principle 
that  in  great  enterprises  economy  spells  ruin,  and  that 


/ 


The  Empire 


39 


to  check  expenditure  is  to  trip  up  success.  And  this  is 
explained,  if  not  justified,  by  his  close  association  with 
the  people,  from  his  very  childhood.  Until  he  was 
made  Pontifex  Maximus  he  seems  to  have  lived  in  a 
small  house  in  the  Suburra,  in  one  of  the  most  crowded 
and  least  fashionable  quarters  of  Rome ; and  as  a mere 
boy,  it  was  his  influence  with  the  common  people  that 
roused  Sylla’s  anxiety.  To  live  with  the  people,  to  take 
their  part  against  the  nobles,  to  give  them  of  all  he  had 
and  of  all  he  could  borrow,  were  the  chief  rules  of  his 
conduct,  and  the  fact  that  he  obtained  such  enormous 
loans  proves  that  there  were  rich  lenders  who  were 
ready  to  risk  fortunes  upon  his  success.  And  it  was  in 
dealing  with  the  Roman  plebeian  that  he  learned  to 
command  the  Roman  soldier,  with  the  tact  of  a dema- 
gogue and  the  firmness  of  an  autocrat.  He  knew  that 
a man  must  give  largely,  even  recklessly,  to  be  beloved, 
and  that  in  order  to  be  respected  he  must  be  able  to 
refuse  coldly  and  without  condition,  and  that  in  all  ages 
the  people  are  but  as  little  children  before  genius, 
though  they  may  rise  against  talent  like  wild  beasts  and 
tear  it  to  death. 

He  knew  also  that  in  youth  ten  failures  are  nothing 
compared  with  one  success,  while  in  the  full  meridian 
of  power  one  failure  undoes  a score  of  victories ; hence 
his  recklessness  at  first,  his  magnificent  caution  in  his 
latter  days;  his  daring  resistance  of  Sylla’s  power 
before  he  was  twenty,  and  his  mildness  towards  the 


40  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

ringleaders  of  popular  conspiracies  against  him  when 
he  was  near  his  end ; his  violence  upon  the  son  of 
King  Juba,  whom  he  seized  by  the  beard  in  open 
court  when  he  himself  was  but  a young  lawyer,  and 
his  moderation  in  bearing  the  most  atrocious  libels,  to 
punish  which  might  have  only  increased  their  force. 

Caesar’s  career  divides  itself  not  unnaturally  into 
three  periods,  corresponding  with  his  youth,  his  man- 
hood and  his  maturity ; with  the  absorption  of  force 
in  gaining  experience,  the  lavish  expenditure  of 
force  in  conquest,  the  calm  employment  of  force  in 
final  supremacy.  The  man  who  never  lost  a battle 
in  which  he  commanded  in  person,  began  life  by  fail- 
ing in  everything  he  attempted,  and  ended  it  as  the 
foremost  man  of  all  humanity,  past  and  to  come,  — 
the  greatest  general,  the  greatest  speaker,  the  greatest 
lawgiver,  the  greatest  writer  of  Latin  prose  whom 
the  great  Roman  people  ever  produced,  and  also  the 
bravest  man  of  his  day,  as  he  was  the  kindest.  In 
an  age  when  torture  was  a legitimate  part  of  justice,  he 
caused  the  pirates  who  had  taken  him,  and  whom 
he  took  in  turn,  to  be  mercifully  put  to  death  before 
he  crucified  their  dead  bodies  for  his  oath’s  sake,  and 
when  his  long-trusted  servant  tried  to  poison  him  he 
would  not  allow  the  wretch  to  be  hurt  save  by  the 
sudden  stroke  of  instant  death ; nor  ever  in  a long 
career  of  conquest  did  he  inflict  unnecessary  pain. 
Never  was  man  loved  of  women  as  he  was,  and  his 


L 


The  Empire 


4i 


sins  were  many  even  for  those  days,  yet  in  them  we 
find  no  unkindness,  and  when  his  own  wife  should 
have  been  condemned  for  her  love  of  Clodius,  Caesar 
would  not  testify  against  her.  He  divorced  her,  he 
said,  not  because  he  knew  anything,  but  because  his 
family  should  be  above  suspicion.  He  plundered  the 
world,  but  he  gave  it  back  its  gold  in  splendid  gifts 
and  public  works,  keeping  its  glory  alone  for  himself. 
He  was  hated  by  the  few  because  he  was  beloved 
by  the  many,  and  it  was  not  revenge,  but  envy,  that 
slew  the  benefactor  of  mankind.  The  weaknesses  of 
the  supreme  conqueror  were  love  of  woman  and  trust 
of  man,  and  as  the  first  Brutus  made  his  name  glorious 
by  setting  his  people  free,  the  second  disgraced  it 
and  blackened  the  name  of  friendship  with  a stain 
that  will  outlast  time,  and  by  a deed  second  only  in 
infamy  to  that  of  Judas  Iscariot.  The  last  cry  of  the 
murdered  master  was  the  cry  of  a broken  heart  — 
‘ And  thou,  too,  Brutus,  my  son ! ’ Alexander  left 
chaos  behind  him  ; Caesar  left  Europe,  and  it  may  be 
truly  said  that  the  crowning  manifestation  of  his 
sublime  wisdom  was  his  choice  of  Octavius  — of  the 
young  Augustus  — to  complete  the  carving  of  a world 
which  he  himself  had  sketched  and  blocked  out  in 
the  rough. 

The  first  period  of  his  life  ended  with  his  election 
to  the  military  tribuneship  on  his  return  to  Rome 
after  his  Asian  adventures,  and  his  first  acts  were 


42 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


directed  towards  the  reconstruction  of  what  Sylla  had 
destroyed,  by  reestablishing  the  authority  of  tribunes 
and  recalling  some  of  Sylla’s  victims  from  their  politi- 
cal exile.  From  that  time  onward,  in  his  second 
period,  he  was  more  or  less  continually  in  office. 
Successively  a tribune,  a quaestor,  governor  of  Far- 
ther Spain,  aedile,  pontifex  maximus,  praetor,  governor  of 
Spain  again,  and  consul  with  the  insignificant  Bibulus, 
a man  of  so  small  importance  that  people  used  to  date 
documents,  by  way  of  a jest,  ‘in  the  Consulship  of 
Julius  and  Caesar.’  Then  he  obtained  Gaul  for  his 
province,  and  lived  the  life  of  a soldier  for  nine  years, 
during  which  he  created  the  army  that  gave  him  at 
last  the  mastery  of  Rome.  And  in  the  tenth  year 
Rome  was  afraid,  and  his  enemies  tried  to  deprive 
him  of  his  power  and  passed  bills  against  him,  and 
drove  out  the  tribunes  of  the  people  who  took  his 
part ; and  if  he  had  returned  to  Rome  then,  yielding 
up  his  province  and  his  legions,  as  he  was  called  upon 
to  do,  he  would  have  been  judged  and  destroyed  by 
his  enemies.  But  he  knew  that  the  people  loved  him, 
and  he  crossed  the  Rubicon  in  arms. 

This  second  period  of  his  life  closed  with  the  last 
triumph  decreed  to  him  for  his  victories  in  Spain. 
The  third  and  final  period  had  covered  but  one  year 
when  his  assassins  cut  it  short. 

Nothing  demonstrates  Caesar’s  greatness  so  satis- 
factorily as  this,  that  at  his  death  Rome  relapsed  at 


The  Empire  43 

once  into  civil  war  and  strife  as  violent  as  that  to  which 
Caesar  had  put  an  end,  and  that  the  man  who  brought 
lasting  peace  and  unity  into  the  distracted  state,  was 
the  man  of  Caesar’s  choice.  But  in  endeavouring  to 
realize  his  supreme  wisdom,  nothing  helps  us  more 
than  the  pettiness  of  the  accusations  brought  against 
him  by  such  historians  as  Suetonius  — that  he  once 
remained  seated  to  receive  the  whole  body  of  Conscript 
fathers,  that  he  had  a gilded  chair  in  the  Senate  house, 
and  appointed  magistrates  at  his  own  pleasure  to 
hold  office  for  terms  of  years,  that  he  laughed  at  an 
unfavourable  omen  and  made  himself  dictator  for  life ; 
and  such  things,  says  the  historian,  ‘are  of  so  much 
more  importance  than  all  his  good  qualities  that  he 
is  considered  to  have  abused  his  power  and  to  have 
been  justly  assassinated.’  But  it  is  the  people,  not 
the  historian,  who  make  history,  and  when  Caius  Julius 
Caesar  was  dead,  the  people  called  him  God. 

Beardless  Octavius,  his  sister’s  daughter’s  son,  barely 
eighteen  years  old,  brings  in  by  force  the  golden  age 
of  Rome.  As  Triumvir,  with  Antony  and  Lepidus, 
he  hunts  down  the  murderers  first,  then  his  rebellious 
colleagues,  and  wins  the  Empire  back  in  thirteen  years. 
He  rules  long  and  well,  and  very  simply,  as  command- 
ing general  of  the  army  and  by  no  other  power,  taking 
all  into  his  hands  besides,  the  Senate,  the  chief  priest- 
hood, and  the  Majesty  of  Rome  over  the  whole  earth, 
for  which  he  was  called  Augustus,  the  ‘ Majestic.’ 


44 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


And  his  strength  lay  in  this,  that  by  the  army,  he  was 
master  of  Senate  and  people  alike,  so  that  they  could 
no  longer  strive  with  each  other  in  perpetual  blood- 
shed, and  the  everlasting  wars  of  Rome  were  fought 
against  barbarians  far  away,  while  Rome  at  home  was 
prosperous  and  calm  and  peaceful.  Then  Virgil  sang, 
and  Horace  gave  Latin  life  to  Grecian  verse,  and 
smiled  and  laughed,  and  wept  and  dallied  with  love, 
while  Livy  wrote  the  story  of  greatness  for  us  all  to 
this  day,  and  Ovid  touched  another  note  still  unfor- 
gotten. Then  temple  rose  by  temple,  and  grand  basili- 
cas reared  their  height  by  the  Sacred  Way ; the  gold 
of  the  earth  poured  in  and  Art  was  queen  and  mis- 
tress of  the  age.  Julius  Caesar  was  master  in  Rome 
for  one  year.  Augustus  ruled  nearly  half  a century. 
Four  and  forty  years  he  was  sole  monarch  after 
Antony’s  fall  at  Actium.  About  the  thirtieth  year  of 
his  reign,  Christ  was  born. 

All  men  have  an  original  claim  to  be  judged  by  the 
standard  of  their  own  time.  Counting  one  by  one  the 
victims  of  the  proscription  proclaimed  by  the  trium- 
virate in  which  Augustus  was  the  chief  power,  some 
historians  have  brought  down  his  greatness  in  quick 
declination  to  the  level  of  a cold-blooded  and  cruel 
selfishness ; and  they  account  for  his  subsequent  just 
and  merciful  conduct  on  the  ground  that  he  foresaw 
political  advantage  in  clemency,  and  extension  of  power 
in  the  exercise  of  justice.  The  death  of  Cicero,  sacri- 


/ 


The  Empire  45 

ficed  to  Antony’s  not  unreasonable  vengeance,  is  mag- 
nified into  a crime  that  belittles  the  Augustan  age. 

Yet  compared  with  the  wholesale  murders  done  by 
Markis  and  Sylla,  and  by  the  patricians  themselves  in 
their  struggles  with  the 
people,  the  few  political 
executions  ordered  by 
Augustus  sink  into  com- 
parative insignificance, 
and  it  will  generally  be 
seen  that  those  who 
most  find  fault  with  him 
are  ready  to  extol  the 
murderers  of  Julius  Cae- 
sar as  devoted  patriots, 
if  not  as  glorious  mar- 
tyrs to  the  divine  cause 
of  liberty. 

It  is  easier,  perhaps, 
to  describe  the  growth 
of  Rome  from  the  early  octavius  Augustus  c^esar 
Kings  to  Augustus,  than  After  a bust  in  the  British  Museum 
to  account  for  the  change  from  the  Rome  of  the  Em- 
pire at  the  beginning  of  our  era  to  the  Rome  of 
the  Popes  in  the  year  eight  hundred.  Probably  the 
easiest  and  truest  way  of  looking  at  the  transition  is 
to  regard  it  according  to  the  periods  of  supremacy, 
decadence  and  ultimate  disappearance  from  Rome  of 


46 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  Roman  Army.  For  the  Army  made  the  Em- 
perors, and  the  Emperors  made  the  times.  The 
great  military  organization  had  in  it  the  elements  of 
long  life,  together  with  all  sudden  and  terrible  possi- 
bilities. The  Army  made  Tiberius,  Caligula,  Claudius 
and  Nero,  the  Julian  Emperors;  then  destroyed  Nero 
and  set  up  Vespasian  after  one  or  two  experiments. 
The  Army  chose  such  men  as  Trajan  and  Marcus 
Aurelius,  and  such  monsters  as  Domitian  and  Corn- 
modus  ; the  Army  conquered  the  world,  held  the 
world  and  gave  the  world  to  whomsoever  it  pleased. 
The  Army  and  the  Emperor,  each  the  other’s  tool, 
governed  Rome  for  good  and  ill,  for  ill  and  good,  by 
fear  and  bounty  and  largely  by  amusement,  but  ulti- 
mately to  their  own  and  Rome’s  destruction. 

For  all  the  time  the  two  great  adversaries  of  the 
Empire,  the  spiritual  and  material,  the  Christian  and 
the  men  of  the  North,  were  gaining  strength  and 
unity.  Under  Augustus,  Christ  was  born.  Under  Au- 
gustus, Hermann  the  German  chieftain  destroyed  Varus 
and  his  legions.  By  sheer  strength  and  endurance, 
the  Army  widened  and  broadened  the  Empire,  forcing 
back  the  Northmen  upon  themselves  like  a spring 
that  gathers  force  by  tension.  Unnoticed,  at  first, 
Christianity  quietly  grew  to  power.  Between  Chris- 
tians and  Northmen,  the  Empire  of  Rome  went  down 
at  last,  leaving  the  Empire  of  Constantinople  be- 
hind it. 


The  Empire 


47 


The  great  change  was  wrought  in  about  five  hun- 
dred years,  by  the  Empire,  from  the  City  of  the  Re- 
public to  what  had  become  the  City  of  the  Middle 
Age ; between  the  reign  of  Augustus,  first  Emperor, 
and  the  deposition  of  the  last  Emperor,  Romulus 
Augustulus,  by  Odoacer,  Rome’s  hired  Pomeranian 
general. 

In  that  time  Rome  was  transubstantiated  in  all  its 
elements,  in  population,  in  language,  in  religion  and 
in  customs.  To  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  original 
Latin  race  utterly  disappeared,  and  the  Latin  tongue 
became  the  broken  dialect  of  a mixed  people,  out  of 
which  the  modern  Italian  speech  was  to  grow,  deca- 
dent in  form,  degenerate  in  strength  but  renascent 
in  a grace  and  beauty  which  the  Latin  never  possessed. 
First  the  vast  population  of  slaves  brought  in  their 
civilized  and  their  barbarous  words  — Greek,  Hebrew 
and  Arabic,  or  Celtic,  German  and  Slav;  then  came 
the  Goth,  and  filled  all  Italy  with  himself  and  his 
rough  language  for  a hundred  years.  The  Latin  of 
the  Roman  Mass  is  the  Latin  of  slaves  in  Rome  be- 
tween the  first  and  fifth  centuries,  from  the  time  of 
the  Apostles  to  that  of  Pope  Gelasius,  whose  prayer 
for  peace  and  rest  is  the  last  known  addition  to  the 
Canon,  according  to  most  authorities.  Compare  it  with 
the  Latin  of  Livy  and  Tacitus;  it  is  not  the  same 
language,  for  to  read  the  one  by  no  means  implies  an 
understanding  of  the  other. 


48 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Or  take  the  dress.  It  is  told  of  Augustus,  as  a 
strange  and  almost  unknown  thing,  that  he  wore 
breeches  and  stockings,  or  .leg  swathings,  because  he 
suffered  continually  with  cold.  Men  went  barelegged 
and  wrapped  themselves  in  the  huge  toga  which  came 
down  to  their  feet.  In  the  days  of  Augustulus  the  toga 
was  almost  forgotten ; men  wore  leggings,  tunics  and 
the  short  Greek  cloak. 

In  the  change  of  religion,  too,  all  customs  were  trans- 
formed, private  and  public,  in  a way  impossible  to 
realize  today.  The  Roman  household,  with  the  father 
as  absolute  head,  lord  and  despot,  gradually  gave  way 
to  a sort  of  half-patriarchal,  half-religious  family  life, 
resembling  the  first  in  principle  but  absolutely  different 
from  it  in  details  and  result,  and  which,  in  a measure, 
has  survived  in  Italy  to  the  present  time. 

In  the  lives  of  men,  the  terror  of  one  man,  as  each 
despot  lost  power,  began  to  give  way  to  the  fear  of 
half-defined  institutions,  of  the  distant  government  in 
Constantinople  and  of  the  Church  as  a secular  power, 
till  the  time  came  when  the  title  of  Emperor  raised  a 
smile,  whereas  the  name  of  the  Pope  — of  the  ‘Father- 
Bishop  * — was  spoken  with  reverence  by  Christians 
and  with  respect  even  by  unbelievers.  The  time  came 
when  the  army  that  had  made  Emperors  and  unmade 
them  at  its  pleasure  became  a mere  band  of  foreign 
mercenaries,  who  fought  for  wages  and  plunder  when 
they  could  be  induced  to  fight  for  Rome  at  all. 


The  Empire 


49 


So  the  change  came.  But  in  the  long  five  hundred 
years  of  the  Western  Empire  Rome  had  filled  the  world 
with  the  results  of  her  own  life  and  had  founded  mod- 
ern Europe,  from  the  Danube  to  England  and  from  the 
Rhine  to  Gibraltar ; so  that  when  the  tide  set  towards 
the  south  again,  the  Northmen  brought  back  to  Italy 
some  of  the  spirit  and  some  of  the  institutions  which 
Rome  had  carried  northwards  to  them  in  the  days  of 
conquest ; and  they  came  not  altogether  as  strangers 
and  barbarians,  as  the  Huns  had  come,  to  ravage  and 
destroy,  and  be  themselves  destroyed  and  scattered  and 
forgotten,  but,  in  a measure,  as  Europeans  against  Eu- 
ropeans, hoping  to  grasp  the  remnants  of  a civilized 
power.  Theodoric  tried  to  make  a real  kingdom, 
Totila  and  Teias  fell  fighting  for  one;  the  Franks  es- 
tablished one  in  Gaul,  and  at  last  it  was  a Frank  who 
gave  the  Empire  life  again,  and  conquests  and  laws, 
and  was  crowned  by  the  Christian  Pontifex  Maximus  in 
Rome  when  Julius  Caesar  had  been  dead  more  than 
eight  hundred  years. 

One  of  the  greatest  of  the  world’s  historians  has  told 
the  story  of  the  change,  calling  it  the  ‘ Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Empire,’  and  describing  it  in  some  three 
thousand  pages,  of  which  scarcely  one  can  be  spared 
for  the  understanding  of  the  whole.  Thereby  its  magni- 
tude may  be  gauged,  but  neither  fairly  judged  nor 
accurately  measured.  The  man  who  would  grasp  the 
whole  meaning  of  Rome’s  name,  must  spend  a lifetime 


VOL.  I 


E 


50 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


in  study  and  look  forward  to  disappointment  in  the  end. 
It  was  Ampere,  I believe,  who  told  a young  student 
that  he  might  get  a superficial  impression  of  the  city 
in  ten  years,  but  that  twenty  would  be  necessary  in 
order  to  know  anything  about  it  worthy  to  be  written. 
And  perhaps  the  largest  part  of  the  knowledge  worth 
having  lies  in  the  change  from  the  ancient  capital  of 
the  Empire  to  the  mediaeval  seat  of  ecclesiastic 
domination. 

And,  indeed,  nothing  in  all  history  is  more  extraor- 
dinary than  the  rise  of  Rome’s  second  power  under 
the  Popes.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  human  events, 
great  nations  appear  to  have  had  but  one  life.  When 
that  was  lived  out,  and  when  they  had  passed  through 
the  artistic  period  so  often  coincident  with  early  deca- 
dence, they  were  either  swept  away,  or  they  sank  to  the 
insignificance  of  mere  commercial  prosperity,  thereafter 
deriving  their  fashions,  arts,  tastes,  and  in  fact  almost 
everything  except  their  wealth,  from  nations  far  gone 
in  decay. 

But  in  Rome  it  was  otherwise.  The  growth  of  the 
faith  which  subjected  the  civilized  world  was  a matter 
of  first  importance  to  civilization,  and  Rome  was  the 
centre  of  that  growing.  Moreover,  that  development 
and  that  faith  had  one  head,  chosen  by  election,  and  the 
headship  itself  became  an  object  of  the  highest  ambi- 
tion, whereby  the  strength  and  genius  of  individuals 
and  families  were  constantly  called  into  activity,  and 


The  Empire 


5i 


both  families  and  isolated  individuals  of  foreign  race 
were  attracted  to  Rome.  It  was  no  small  thing  to  hold 
the  kings  of  the  earth  in  spiritual  subjection,  to  be  the 
arbiter  of  the  new  Empire  founded  by  Charlemagne, 
the  director  of  the  kingdoms  built  up  in  France  and 
England,  and,  almost  literally,  the  feudal  lord  over  all 
other  temporal  powers.  The  force  of  a predominant 
idea  gave  Rome  new  life,  vivifying  new  elements  with 
the  vitality  of  new  ambitions.  The  theatre  was  the 
same.  The  actors  and  the  play  had  changed.  The 
world  was  no  longer  governed  by  one  man  as  monarch ; 
it  was  directed  by  one  man,  who  was  the  chief  person- 
age in  the  vast  and  intricate  feudal  system  by  which 
strong  men  agreed  to  live,  and  to  which  they  forced 
the  weak  to  submit. 

The  Barons  came  into  existence,  and  Rome  was  a 
city  of  fortresses  and  towers,  as  well  as  churches. 
Orsini  and  Colonna,  Caetani  and  Vitelleschi,  Savelli 
and  Frangipani,  fought  with  each  other  for  centuries 
among  ruins,  built  strongholds  of  the  stones  of  tem- 
ples, and  burned  the  marble  treasures  of  the  world  to 
make  lime.  And  fiercely  they  held  their  own.  Nicholas 
Rienzi  wanders  amid  the  deserted  places,  deciphers 
the  broken  inscriptions,  gathers  a little  crowd  of  ple- 
beians about  him  and  tells  them  of  ancient  Rome, 
and  of  the  rights  of  the  people  in  old  times.  All  at 
once  he  rises,  a grand  shadow  of  a Roman,  a true 
tribune,  brave,  impulsive,  eloquent.  A little  while 


52 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


longer  and  he  is  half  mad  with  vanity  and  ambition, 
a public  fool  in  a high  place,  decking  himself  in  silks 
and  satins,  and  ornaments  of  gold,  and  the  angry 
nobles  slay  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Aracoeli,  as  other 
nobles  long  ago  slew  Tiberius  Gracchus,  a greater  and 
a better  man,  almost  on  the  same  spot. 

Meanwhile  the  great  schism  of  the  Church  rages, 
before  and  after  Rienzi.  The  Empire  and  its  King- 
doms join  issue  with  each  other  and  with  the  Barons 
for  the  lordship  of  Christendom ; there  are  two  Popes, 
waging  war  with  nations  on  both  sides,  and  Rome  is 
reduced  to  a town  of  barely  twenty  thousand  souls. 
Then  comes  Hildebrand,  Pope  Gregory  the  Seventh, 
friend  of  the  Great  Countess,  humbler  of  the  Emperor, 
a restorer  of  things,  the  Julius  Caesar  of  the  Church, 
and  from  his  day  there  is  stability  again,  as  Urban 
the  Second  follows,  like  an  Augustus  ; Nicholas  the 
Fifth,  the  next  great  Pontiff,  comes  in  with  the  Renas- 
cence. Last  of  destroyers  Charles,  the  wild  Constable 
of  Bourbon,  marches  in  open  rebellion  against  King, 
State  and  Church,  friend  to  the  Emperor,  straight  to 
his  death  at  the  walls,  his  work  of  destruction  carried 
out  to  the  terrible  end  by  revengeful  Spaniards  who 
spare  only  the  churches  and  the  convents.  Out  of 
those  ashes  Rome  rose  again,  for  the  last  time,  the 
Rome  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth,  which  is,  substantially,  the 
Rome  we  see  today ; less  powerful  in  the  world  after 
that  time,  but  more  beautiful  as  she  grew  more  peaceful 


4 


The  Empire 


53 


by  degrees ; flourishing  in  a strange,  motley  way,  like 
no  other  city  in  the  world,  as  the  Empire  of  the  Haps- 
burgs  and  the  Kingdoms  of  Europe  learned  to  live 
apart  from  her,  and  she  was  concentrated  again  upon 
herself,  still  and  always  a factor  among  nations,  and 
ever  to  be.  But  even  in  latter  days,  Napoleon  could 
not  do  without  her,  and  Francis  the  Second  of  Aus- 
tria had  to  resign  the  Empire,  in  order  that  Pius  the 
Seventh  might  call  the  self-crowned  Corsican  soldier, 
girt  with  Charlemagne’s  huge  sword,  the  anointed  Em- 
peror of  Christendom. 

Once  more  a new  idea  gives  life  to  fragments  hewn 
in  pieces  and  scattered  in  confusion.  A dream  of  unity 
disturbs  Italy’s  sleep.  Never,  in  truth,  in  all  history, 
has  Italy  been  united  save  by  violence.  By  the  sword 
the  Republic  brought  Latins,  Samnites  and  Etruscans 
into  subjection ; by  sheer  strength  she  crushed  the 
rebellion  of  the  slaves  and  then  forced  the  Italian  allies 
to  a second  submission ; by  terror  Marius  and  Sylla 
ruled  Rome  and  Italy ; and  it  was  the  overwhelming 
power  of  a paid  army  that  held  the  Italians  in  check 
under  the  Empire,  till  they  broke  away  from  each  other 
as  soon  as  the  pressure  was  removed,  to  live  in  separate 
kingdoms  and  principalities  for  thirteen  or  fourteen 
hundred  years,  from  Romulus  Augustulus  — or  at  least 
from  Justinian  — to  Victor  Emmanuel,  King  of  Italy,  in 
whose  veins  ran  not  one  drop  of  Italian  blood. 

One  asks  whence  came  the  idea  of  unity  which  has 


54 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


had  such  power  to  move  these  Italians,  in  modern 
times.  The  answer  is  plain  and  simple.  Unity  is  the 
word;  the  interpretation  of  it  is  the  name  of  Rome. 
The  desire  is  for  all  the  romance  and  the  legends  and 
the  visions  of  supreme  greatness  which  no  other  name 
can  ever  call  up.  What  will  be  called  hereafter  the 
madness  of  the  Italian  people  took  possession  of  them 
on  the  day  when  Rome  was  theirs  to  do  with  as  they 
pleased.  Their  financial  ruin  had  its  origin  at  that 
moment,  when  they  became  masters  of  the  legendary 
Mistress  of  the  world.  What  the  end  will  be,  no  one 
can  foretell,  but  the  Rome  of  old  was  not  made  great 
by  dreams.  Her  walls  were  founded  in  blood,  and 
her  temples  were  built  with  the  wealth  of  conquered 
nations,  by  captives  and  slaves  of  subject  races. 

The  Rome  we  see  today  owes  its  mystery,  its  sad- 
ness and  its  charm  to  six  and  twenty  centuries  of  his- 
tory, mostly  filled  with  battle,  murder  and  sudden 
death,  deeds  horrible  in  that  long-past  present  which 
we  try  to  call  up,  but  alternately  grand,  fascinating  and 
touching  now,  as  we  shape  our  scant  knowledge  into 
visions  and  fill  out  our  broken  dreams  with  the  stuff  of 
fancy.  In  most  men’s  minds,  perhaps,  the  charm  lies  in 
that  very  confusion  of  suggestions,  for  few  indeed  know 
Rome  so  well  as  to  divide  clearly  the  truth  from  the 
legend  in  her  composition.  Such  knowledge  is  perhaps 
altogether  unattainable  in  any  history ; it  is  most  surely 
so  here,  where  city  is  built  on  city,  monument  upon 


/ 


The  Empire 


55 


monument,  road  upon  road,  from  the  heart  of  the  soil 
upwards  — the  hardened  lava  left  by  many  eruptions  of 
life;  where  the  tablets  of  Clio  have  been  shattered 
again  and  again,  where  fire  has  eaten,  and  sword  has 
uacl  .d,  and  hammer  has  bruised  ages  of  records  out  of 
existence,  where  even  the  race  and  type  of  humanity 
have  ch  nged  and  have  been  forgotten  twice  and  three 
times  ove“. 

Therefore,  unless  one  have  half  a lifetime  to  spend  in 
patient  study  and  deep  research,  it  is  better,  if  one  come 
to  Rome,  to  feel  much  than  to  try  and  know  a little,  for 
in  much  feeling  there  is  more  human  truth  than  in  that 
dangerous  little  knowledge  which  dulls  the  heart  and 
hampers  the  clear  instincts  of  natural  thought.  Let 
him  who  comes  hither  be  satisfied  with  a little  history 
and  much  legend,  with  rough  warp  of  fact  and  rich 
woof  of  old-time  fancy,  and  not  look  too  closely  for  the 
perfect  sum  of  all,  where  more  than  half  the  parts  have 
perished  for  ever. 

It  matters  not  much  whether  we  know  the  exact  site  of 
Virgil’s  Laurentum  ; it  is  more  interesting  to  remember 
how  Commodus,  cruel,  cowardly  and  selfish,  fled  thither 
from  the  great  plague,  caring  not  at  all  that  his  people 
perished  by  tens  of  thousands  in  the  city,  since  he  him- 
self was  safe,  with  the  famous  Galen  to  take  care  of 
him.  We  can  leave  the  task  of  tracing  the  enclosures 
of  Nero’s  golden  house  to  learned  archaeologists,  and  let 
our  imagination  find  wonder  and  delight  in  their  ac- 


56 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


counts  of  its  porticos  three  thousand  feet  long,  its  game 
park,  its  baths,  its  thousands  of  columns  with  their 
gilded  capitals,  and  its  walls  encrusted  with  mother-*" 
pearl.  And  we  may  realize  the  depth  of  Rome’s  at 
rence  for  the  dead  tyrant,  as  we  think  of  how  Vespas  .r. 
and  his  son  Titus  pulled  down  the  enchanted  palace  for 
the  people’s  sake,  and  built  the  Colosseum  where  the 
artificial  lake  had  been,  and  their  great  baths  on  the 
very  foundations  of  Nero’s  gorgeous  dwellin'- 


BRASS  OF  TRAJAN,  SHOWING  THE  CIRCUS  MAXIMUS 


BRASS  OF  ANTONINUS  PIUS,  IN  HONOUR  OF  FAUSTINA,  WITH  REVERSE 
SHOWING  VESTA  BEARING  THE  PALLADIUM 


III 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  the  Augustan  age  with- 
out Horace,  nor  to  imagine  a possible  Horace  without 
Greece  and  Greek  influence.  At  the  same  time  Horace 
is  in  many  ways  the  prototype  of  the  old-fashioned,  cul- 
tivated, gifted,  idle,  sarcastic,  middle-class  Roman  offi- 
cial, making  the  most  of  life  on  a small  salary  and  the 
friendship  of  a great  personage ; praising  poverty,  but 
making  the  most  of  the  good  things  that  fell  in  his  way  ; 
extolling  pristine  austerity  of  life  and  yielding  with  a 
smile  to  every  agreeable  temptation ; painting  the  idyl- 
lic life  of  a small  gentleman  farmer  as  the  highest  state 
of  happiness,  but  secretly  preferring  the  town ; pru- 
dently avoiding  marriage,  but  far  too  human  to  care  for 
an  existence  in  which  woman  had  no  share ; more  sen- 
sible in  theory  than  in  practice,  and  more  religious  in 


57 


58 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


manner  than  in  heart ; full  of  quaint  superstitions,  queer 
odds  and  ends  of  knowledge,  amusing  anecdotes  and 
pictures  of  personal  experience ; the  whole  compound 
permeated  with  a sort  of  indolent  sadness  at  the  unful- 
filled promises  of  younger  years,  in  which  there  had 
been  more  of  impulse  than  of  ambition,  and  more  of 
ambition  than  real  strength.  The  early  struggles  for 
Italian  unity  left  many  such  half-disappointed  patriots, 
and  many  less  fortunate  in  their  subsequent  lives  than 
Horace. 

Born  in  the  far  South,  and  the  son  of  a freed  slave, 
brought  to  Rome  as  a boy  and  carefully  taught,  then 
sent  to  Athens  to  study  Greek,  he  was  barely  twenty 
years  of  age  when  he  joined  Brutus  after  Caesar’s  death, 
was  with  him  in  Asia,  and,  in  the  lack  of  educated  offi- 
cers perhaps,  found  himself  one  day,  still  a mere  boy, 
tribune  of  a Legion  — or,  as  we  should  say,  in  command 
of  a brigade  of  six  thousand  men,  fighting  for  what  he 
believed  to  be  the  liberty  of  Rome,  in  the  disastrous 
battle  of  Philippi.  Brutus  being  dead,  the  dream  of 
glory  ended,  after  the  amnesty,  in  a scribe’s  office 
under  one  of  the  quaestors,  and  the  would-be  liberator 
of  his  country  became  a humble  clerk  in  the  Treasury, 
eking  out  his  meagre  salary  with  the  sale  of  a few 
verses.  Many  an  old  soldier  of  Garibaldi’s  early  repub- 
lican dreams  has  ended  in  much  the  same  way  in  our 
own  times  under  the  monarchy. 

But  Horace  was  born  to  other  things.  Chaucer  was 


The  City  of  Augustus 


59 


a clerk  in  the  Custom  House,  and  found  time  to  be 
the  father  of  English  poetry.  Horace’s  daily  work 
did  not  hinder  him  from  becoming  a poet  His  love 
of  Greek,  acquired  in  Athens  and  Asia  Minor,  and 
the  natural  bent  of  his  mind  made  him  the  greatest 
imitator  and  adapter  of  foreign  verses  that  ever  lived ; 
and  his  character,  by  its  eminently  Italian  combination 
of  prim  respectability  and  elastic  morality,  gave  him  a 
two-sided  view  of  men  and  things  that  has  left  us 
representations  of  life  in  three  dimensions  instead  of 
the  flat,  though  often  violent,  pictures  which  prejudice 
loves  best  to  paint. 

In  his  admiration  of  Greek  poetry,  Horace  was  not 
a discoverer ; he  was  rather  the  highest  expression  of 
Rome’s  artistic  want.  If  Scipio  of  Africa  had  never 
conquered  the  Carthaginians  at  Zama,  he  would  be 
notable  still  as  one  of  the  first  and  most  sincere  lovers 
of  Hellenic  literature,  and  as  one  of  the  earliest 
imitators  of  Athenian  manners.  The  great  conqueror 
is  remembered  also  as  the  first  man  in  Rome  who 
shaved  every  day,  more  than  a hundred  and  fifty 
years  before  Horace’s  time.  He  was  laughed  at  by 
some,  despised  by  others  and  disliked  by  the  majority 
for  his  cultivated  tastes  and  his  refined  manners. 

The  Romans  had  most  gifts  excepting  those  we  call 
creative.  Instead  of  creating,  therefore,  Rome  took 
her  art  whole,  and  by  force,  from  the  most  artistic 
nation  the  world  ever  produced.  Sculptors,  architects, 


6o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


painters  and  even  poets,  such  as  there  were,  came 
captive  to  Rome  in  gangs,  were  sold  at  auction  as 
slaves,  and  became  the  property  of  the  rich,  to  work 
all  their  lives  at  their  several  arts  for  their  master’s 
pleasure;  and  the  State  rifled  Greece  and  Asia,  and 
even  the  Greek  Italy  of  the  south,  and  brought  back 
the  masterpieces  of  an  age  to  adorn  Rome’s  public 
places.  The  Roman  was  the  engineer,  the  maker  of 
roads,  of  aqueducts,  of  fortifications,  the  layer  out  of 
cities,  and  the  planner  of  harbours.  In  a word,  the 
Roman  made  the  solid  and  practical  foundation,  and 
then  set  the  Greek  slave  to  beautify  it.  When  he  had 
watched  the  slave  at  work  for  a century  or  two,  he 
occasionally  attempted  to  imitate  him.  That  was  as  far 
as  Rome  ever  went  in  original  art. 

But  her  love  of  the  beautiful,  though  often  indis- 
criminating  and  lacking  in  taste,  was  profound  and 
sincere.  It  does  not  appear  that  in  all  her  conquests 
her  armies  ever  wantonly  destroyed  beautiful  things. 
On  the  contrary,  her  generals  brought  home  all  they 
could  with  uncommon  care,  and  the  consequence  was 
that  in  Horace’s  day  the  public  places  of  the  city  were 
vast  open-air  museums,  and  the  great  temples  picture 
galleries  of  which  we  have  not  the  like  now  in  the 
whole  world.  And  with  those  things  came  all  the  rest ; 
the  manners,  the  household  life,  the  necessaries  and 
the  fancies  of  a conquering  and  already  decadent 
nation,  the  thousands  of  slaves  whose  only  duty 


was 


The  City  of  Augustus  61 

to  amuse  their  owners  and  the  public;  the  countless 
men  and  women  and  girls  and  boys,  whose  souls  and 
bodies  went  to  feed  the  corruption  of  the  gorgeous 
capital,  or  to  minister  to  its  enormous  luxuries ; the 
companies  of  flute-players  and  dancing-girls,  the  sharp- 
tongued  jesters,  the  coarse  buffoons,  the  play-actors 
and  the  singers.  And  then,  the  endless  small  com- 
merce of  an  idle  and  pleasure-seeking  people,  easily 
attracted  by  bright  colours,  new  fashions  and  new 
toys ; the  drug-sellers  and  distillers  of  perfumes,  the 
venders  of  Eastern  silks  and  linens  and  lace,  the  bar- 
bers and  hairdressers,  the  jewellers  and  tailors,  the 
pastry  cooks  and  makers  of  honey-sweetmeats;  and 
everywhere  the  poor  rabble  of  failures,  like  scum  in 
the  wake  of  a great  ship ; the  beggars  everywhere,  and 
the  pickpockets  and  the  petty  thieves.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  Horace  was  fond  of  strolling  in  Rome. 

In  contrast,  the  great  and  wonderful  things  of  the 
Augustan  city  stand  out  in  high  relief,  above  the  varied 
crowd  that  fills  the  streets,  with  all  the  dignity  that  cen- 
turies of  power  can  lend.  To  the  tawdry  is  opposed 
the  splendid,  the  Roman  general  in  his  chiselled  corselet 
and  dyed  mantle  faces  the  Greek  actor  in  his  tinsel ; 
the  band  of  painted,  half-clad,  bedizened  dancing-girls 
falls  back  cowering  in  awestruck  silence  as  the  noble 
Vestal  passes  by,  high-browed,  white-robed,  untainted, 
the  incarnation  of  purity  in  an  age  of  vice.  And  the 
old  Senator  in  his  white  cloak  with  its  broad  purple 


62 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


hem,  his  smooth-faced  clients  at  his  elbows,  his  silent 
slaves  before  him  and  behind,  meets  the  low-chattering 
knot  of  Hebrew  money-lenders,  making  the  price  of 
short  loans  for  the  day,  and  discussing  the  assets  of  a 
famous  spendthrift,  as  their  yellow-turbaned,  bearded 
fathers  had  talked  over  the  chances  of  Julius  Gaesar 
when  he  was  as  yet  but  a fashionable  young  lawyer  of 
doubtful  fortune,  with  an  unlimited  gift  of  persuasion 
and  an  equally  unbounded  talent  for  amusement. 

Between  the  contrasts  lived  men  of  such  position  as 
Horace  occupied,  but  not  many.  For  the  great  middle 
element  of  society  is  a growth  of  later  centuries,  and 
even  Horace  himself,  as  time  went  on,  became  attached 
to  Maecenas  and  then,  more  or  less,  to  the  person  of 
the  Emperor,  by  a process  of  natural  attraction,  just 
as  his  butt,  Tigellius,  gravitated  to  the  common  herd 
that  mourned  his  death.  The  ‘ golden  mean  ’ of  which 
Horace  wrote  was  a mere  expression,  taught  him,  per- 
haps, by  his  father,  a part  of  his  stock  of  maxims. 
Where  there  were  only  great  people  on  the  one  side, 
and  a rabble  on  the  other,  the  man  of  genius  necessarily 
rose  to  the  level  of  the  high,  by  his  own  instinct  and 
their  liking.  What  was  best  of  Greek  was  for  them, 
what  was  worst  was  for  the  populace. 

But  the  Greek  was  everywhere,  with  his  keen  weak 
face,  his  sly  look  and  his  skilful  fingers.  Scipio  and 
Paulus  Emilius  had  brought  him,  and  he  stayed  in 
Rome  till  the  Goth  came,  and  afterwards.  Greek 


The  City  of  Augustus 


63 


poetry,  Greek  philosophy,  Greek  sculpture,  Greek  paint- 
ing, Greek  music  everywhere  — to  succeed  at  all  in  such 
society,  Virgil  and  Horace  and  Ovid  must  needs  make 
Greek  of  Latin,  and  bend  the  stiff  syllables  to  Alcaics 
and  Sapphics  and  Hexameters.  The  task  looked  easy 
enough,  though  it  was  within  the  powers  of  so  very  few. 
Thousands  tried  it,  no  doubt,  when  the  three  or  four 
had  set  the  fashion,  and  failed,  as  the  second-rate  fail, 
with  some  little  brief  success  in  their  own  day,  turned 
into  the  total  failure  of  complete  disappearance  when 
they  had  been  dead  awhile. 

Supreme  of  them  all,  for  his  humanity,  Horace  re- 
mains. Epic  Virgil,  appealing  to  the  traditions  of  a 
living  race  of  nobles  and  to  the  carefully  hidden,  sober 
vanity  of  the  world’s  absolute  monarch,  does  not  appeal 
to  modern  man.  The  twilight  of  the  gods  has  long 
deepened  into  night,  and  Ovid’s  tales  of  them  and  their 
goddesses  move  us  by  their  own  beauty  rather  than  by 
our  sympathy  for  them,  though  we  feel  the  tender 
touch  of  the  exiled  man  whose  life  was  more  than  half 
love,  in  the  marvellous  Letters  of  Heroes’  Sweethearts 
— in  the  complaint  of  Briseis  to  Achilles,  in  the  pas- 
sionately sad  appeal  of  Hermione  to  Orestes.  Who- 
ever has  not  read  these  things  does  not  know  the 
extreme  limit  of  man’s  understanding  of  woman.  Yet 
Horace,  with  little  or  nothing  of  such  tenderness,  has 
outdone  Ovid  and  Virgil  in  this  later  age. 

He  strolled  through  life,  and  all  life  was  a play  of 


64 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


which  he  became  the  easy-going  but  unforgetful  critic. 
There  was  something  good-natured  even  in  his  occa- 
sional outbursts  of  contempt  and  hatred  for  the  things 
and  the  people  he  did  not  like.  There  was  something 
at  once  caressing  and  good-humouredly  sceptical  in  his 
way  of  addressing  the  gods,  something  charitable  in 
his  attacks  on  all  that  was  ridiculous,  — men,  manners 
and  fashions. 

He  strolled  wherever  he  would,  alone ; in  the  market, 
looking  at  everything  and  asking  the  price  of  what  he 
saw,  of  vegetables  and  grain  and  the  like;  in  the  Forum, 
or  the  Circus,  at  evening,  when  ‘society’  was  dining, 
and  the  poor  people  and  slaves  thronged  the  open 
places  for  rest  and  air,  and  there  he  used  to  listen 
to  the  fortune-tellers,  and  among  them,  no  doubt, 
was  that  old  hag,  Canidia,  immortalized  in  the  huge 
joke  of  his  comic  resentment.  He  goes  home  to  sup 
on  lupins  and  fritters  and  leeks,  — or  says  so,  — though 
his  stomach  abhorred  garlic ; and  his  three  slaves  — 
the  fewest  a man  could  have  — wait  on  him  as  he 
lies  before  the  clean  white  marble  table,  leaning  on 
his  elbow.  He  does  not  forget  the  household  gods, 
and  pours  a few  drops  upon  the  cement  floor  in 
libation  to  them,  out  of  the  little  earthen  saucer  filled 
from  the  slim-necked  bottle  of  Campanian  earthen- 
ware. Then  to  sleep,  careless  of  getting  up  early  or 
late,  just  as  he  might  feel,  to  stay  at  home  and  read  or 
write,  or  to  wander  about  the  city,  or  to  play  the  fa- 


/ 


The  City  of  Augustus 


65 


vourite  left-handed  game  of  ball  in  the  Campus  Mar- 
tius  before  his  bath  and  his  light  midday  meal. 

With  a little  change  here  and  there,  it  is  the  life 
of  the  idle  middle-class  Italian  today,  which  will 
always  be  much  the  same,  let  the  world  wag  and 
change  as  it  will,  with  all  its  extravagances,  its  fash- 
ions and  its  madnesses.  Now  and  then  he  exclaims 
that  there  is  no  average  common  sense  left  in  the 
world,  no  half-way  stopping-place  between  extremes. 
One  man  wears  his  tunic  to  his  heels,  another  is  girt 
up  as  if  for  a race ; Rufillus  smells  of  perfumery, 
Gargonius  of  anything  but  scent;  and  so  on  — and 
he  cries  out  that  when  a fool  tries  to  avoid  a mistake 
he  will  run  to  any  length  in  the  opposite  direction. 
And  Horace  had  a most  particular  dislike  for  fools  and 
bores,  and  has  left  us  the  most  famous  description  of 
the  latter  ever  set  down  by  an  accomplished  observer. 

By  chance,  he  says,  he  was  walking  one  morning 
along  the  Sacred  Street  with  one  slave  behind  him, 
thinking  of  some  trifle  and  altogether  absorbed  in  it, 
when  a man  whom  he  barely  knew  by  name  came  up 
with  him  in  a great  hurry  and  grasped  his  hand. 
* How  do  you  do,  sweet  friend  ? ’ asks  the  Bore. 
‘ Pretty  well,  as  times  go/  answers  Horace,  stopping 
politely  for  a moment ; and  then  beginning  to  move 
on,  he  sees  to  his  horror  that  the  Bore  walks  by  his 
side.  ‘Can  I do  anything  for  you?’  asks  the  poet, 
still  civil,  but  hinting  that  he  prefers  his  own  com- 


VOL.  1 


F 


66 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


pany.  The  Bore  plunges  into  the  important  business 
of  praising  himself,  with  a frankness  not  yet  forgotten 
in  his  species,  and  Horace  tries  to  get  rid  of  him, 
walking  very  fast,  then  very  slowly,  then  turning  to 
whisper  a word  to  his  slave,  and  in  his  anxiety  he 
feels  the  perspiration  breaking  out  all  over  him,  while 
his  Tormentor  chatters  on,  as  they  skirt  the  splendid 
Julian  Basilica,  gleaming  in  the  morning  sun.  Horace 
looks  nervously  and  eagerly  to  right  and  left,  hoping 
to  catch  sight  of  a friend  and  deliverer.  Not  a 
friendly  face  was  in  sight,  and  the  Bore  knew  it,  and 
was  pitilessly  frank.  ‘ Oh,  I know  you  would  like  to 
get  away  from  me!’  he  exclaimed.  ‘I  shall  not  let 
you  go  so  easily!  Where  are  you  going?’  ‘Across 
the  Tiber,’  answered  Horace,  inventing  a distant  visit. 
‘ I am  going  to  see  someone  who  lives  far  off,  in 
Caesar’s  gardens  — a man  you  do  not  know.  He  is 
ill.’  ‘Very  well,’  said  the  other;  ‘I  have  nothing  to 
do,  and  am  far  from  lazy.  I will  go  all  the  way  with 
you.’  Horace  hung  his  head,  as  a poor  little  Italian 
donkey  does  when  a heavy  load  is  piled  upon  his 
back,  for  he  was  fairly  caught,  and  he  thought  of 
the  long  road  before  him,  and  he  had  moreover  the 
unpleasant  consciousness  that  the  Bore  was  laughing 
at  his  imaginary  errand,  since  they  were  walking  in  a 
direction  exactly  opposite  from  the  Tiber,  and  would 
have  to  go  all  the  way  round  the  Palatine  by  the 
1 riumphal  Road  and  the  Circus  Maximus  and  then 


The  City  of  Augustus 


67 


cross  by  the  Sublician  bridge,  instead  of  turning  back 
towards  the  Velabrum,  the  Provision  Market  and  the 
Bridge  of  TLmilius,  which  we  have  known  and 
crossed  as  the  Ponte  Rotto,  but  of  which  only  one 
arch  is  left  now,  in  midstream.  Then,  pressing  his 
advantage,  the  Bore  began  again.  ‘ If  I am  any 
judge  of  myself,’  he  observed,  4 you  will  make  me  one 
of  your  most  intimate  friends.  I am  sure  nobody 


PONTE  ROTTO,  NOW  DESTROYED 
After  an  engraving  made  about  1850 


can  write  such  good  verses  as  fast  as  I can.  As  for 
my  singing,  I know  it  for  a fact  that  Hermogenes 
is  decidedly  jealous  of  me  ! ’ ‘ Have  ycu  a mother, 

Sir?’  asked  Horace,  gravely.  * Have  you  any  rela- 
tions to  whom  your  safety  is  a matter  of  importance  ? ’ 
‘ No,’  answered  the  other,  * no  one.  I have  buried 
them  all ! ’ ‘ Lucky  people  ! ’ said  the  poet  to  himself, 

and  he  wished  he  were  dead,  too,  at  that  moment,  and 


68 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


he  thought  of  all  the  deaths  he  might  have  died.  It 
was  evidently  not  written  that  he  should  die  of  poison, 
nor  in  battle,  nor  of  a cough,  nor  of  the  liver,  nor  even 
of  gout.  He  was  to  be  slowly  talked  to  death  by  a 
bore.  By  this  time  they  were  before  the  temple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux,  where  the  great  Twin  Brethren 
bathed  their  horses  at  Juturna’s  spring.  The  temple 
of  Vesta  was  before  them,  and  the  Sacred  Street  turned 
at  right  angles  to  the  left,  crossing  over  between  a 
row  of  shops  on  one  side  and  the  Julian  Rostra  on 
the  other,  to  the  Courts  of  Law.  The  Bore  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  was  to  appear  in  answer  to  an 
action  on  that  very  morning,  and  as  it  was  already 
nine  o’clock,  he  could  not  possibly  walk  all  the  way 
to  Caesar’s  gardens  and  be  back  before  noon,  and  if 
he  was  late,  he  must  forfeit  his  bail,  and  the  suit 
would  go  against  him  by  default.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  had  succeeded  in  catching  the  great  poet  alone, 
after  a hundred  fruitless  attempts,  and  the  action  was 
not  a very  important  one,  after  all.  He  stopped  short. 
‘ If  you  have  the  slightest  regard  for  me,’  he  said, 
‘you  will  just  go  across  with  me  to  the  Courts  for 
a moment.’  Horace  looked  at  him  curiously,  seeing 
a chance  of  escape.  ‘.You  know  where  I am  going,’ 
he  answered  with  a smile ; ‘ and  as  for  law,  I do  not 
know  the  first  thing  about  it.’  The  Bore  hesitated, 
considered  what  the  loss  of  the  suit  must  cost  him, 
and  what  he  might  gain  by  pushing  his  acquaintance 


/ 


The  City  of  Augustus 


69 


with  the  friend  of  Maecenas  and  Augustus.  ‘ I am  not 
sure,’  he  said  doubtfully,  ‘ whether  I had  better  give  up 
your  company,  or  my  case.’  ‘ My  company,  by  all 
means  ! ’ cried  Horace,  with  alacrity.  ‘ No  ! ’ answered 
the  other,  looking  at  his  victim  thoughtfully,  ‘ I think 
not!’  And  he  began  to  move  on  again  by  the  Nova 
Via  towards  the  House  of  the  Vestals.  Having  made 
up  his  mind  to  sacrifice  his  money,  however,  he  lost  no 
time  before  trying  to  get  an  equivalent  for  it.  ‘ How 
do  you  stand  with  Maecenas  ? ’ he  asked  suddenly,  fix- 
ing his  small  eyes  on  Horace’s  weary  profile,  and  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer  he  ran  on  to  praise  the 
great  man.  ‘ He  is  keen  and  sensible,’  he  continued, 
‘and  has  not  many  intimate  friends.  No  one  knows 
how  to  take  advantage  of  luck  as  he  does.  You  would 
find  me  a valuable  ally,  if  you  would  introduce  me. 
I believe  you  might  drive  everybody  else  out  of  the 
field  — with  my  help,  of  course.’  ‘You  are  quite 
mistaken  there!’  answered  Horace,  rather  indignantly. 
‘He  is  not  at  all  that  kind  of  man!  There  is  not 
a house  in  Rome  where  any  sort  of  intrigue  would 
be  more  utterly  useless ! ’ ‘ Really,  I can  hardly 

believe  it ! ’ ‘It  is  a fact,  nevertheless,’  retorted 
Horace,  stoutly.  ‘Well,’  said  the  Bore,  ‘if  it  is, 
I am  of  course  all  the  more  anxious  to  know  such 
a man!’  Horace  smiled  quietly.  ‘You  have  only 
to  wish  it,  my  dear  Sir,’  he  answered,  with  the  faintest 
modulation  of  polite  irony  in  his  tone.  ‘ With  such 


70 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


gifts  at  your  command,  you  will  certainly  charm  him. 
Why,  the  very  reason  of  his  keeping  most  people  at 
arm’s  length  is  that  he  knows  how  easily  he  yields ! ’ 
‘ In  that  case,  I will  show  you  what  I can  do,’  replied 
the  Bore,  delighted.  ‘ I shall  bribe  the  slaves ; I will 
not  give  it  up,  if  I am  not  received  at  first ! I will  bide 
my  time  and  catch  him  in  the  street,  and  follow  him 
about.  One  gets  nothing  in  life  without  taking 
trouble!’  As  the  man  was  chattering  on,  Horace’s 
quick  eyes  caught  sight  of  an  old  friend  at  last, 
coming  towards  him  from  the  corner  of  the  Triumphal 
Road,  for  they  had  already  almost  passed  the  Palatine. 
Aristius,  sauntering  along  and  enjoying  the  morning 
air,  with  a couple  of  slaves  at  his  heels,  saw  Horace’s 
trouble  in  a moment,  for  he  knew  the  Bore  well 
enough,  and  realized  at  once  that  if  he  delivered  his 
friend,  he  himself  would  be  the  next  victim.  He  was 
far  too  clever  for  that,  and  with  a cold-blooded  smile 
pretended  not  to  understand  Horace’s  signals  of  dis- 
tress. ‘ I forget  what  it  was  you  wished  to  speak 
about  with  me  so  particularly,  my  dear  Aristius,’  said 
the  poet,  in  despair.  ‘ It  was  something  very  impor- 
tant, was  it  not?’  ‘Yes,’  answered  the  other,  with 
another  grin,  ‘ I remember  very  well ; but  this  is 
an  unlucky  day,  and  I shall  choose  another  time. 
Today  is  the  thirtieth  Sabbath,’  he  continued,  invent- 
ing a purely  imaginary  Hebrew  feast,  ‘and  you  surely 
would  not  risk  a Jew’s  curse  for  a few  moments  of 


The  City  of  Augustus 


7i 


conversation,  would  you  ? ’ ‘I  have  no  religion ! ’ 
exclaimed  Horace,  eagerly.  ‘ No  superstition  ! Noth- 
ing ! ’ ‘ But  I have,’  retorted  Aristius,  still  smiling. 

‘ My  health  is  not  good  — perhaps  you  did  not  know  ? 
I will  tell  you  about  it  some  other  time.’  And  he 
turned  on  his  heel,  with  a laugh,  leaving  Horace  to 
his  awful  fate.  Even  the  sunshine  looked  black. 
But  salvation  came  suddenly  in  the  shape  of  the 
man  who  had  brought  the  action  against  the  Bore, 
and  who,  on  his  way  to  the  Court,  saw  his  adversary 
going  off  in  the  opposite  direction.  ‘ Coward ! Vil- 
lain ! ’ yelled  the  man,  springing  forward  and  catching 
the  poet’s  tormentor  by  his  cloak.  4 Where  are  you 
going  now  ? You  are  witness,  Sir,  that  I am  in  my 
right,’  he  added,  turning  to  look  for  Horace.  But 
Horace  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd  that  had  col- 
lected to  see  the  quarrel,  and  his  gods  had  saved  him 
after  all. 

A part  of  the  life  of  the  times  is  in  the  little  story,  and 
anyone  may  stroll  today  along  the  Sacred  Street,  past 
the  Basilica  and  the  sharp  turn  that  leads  to  the  block 
of  old  houses  where  the  Court  House  stood,  between 
St.  Adrian’s  and  San  Lorenzo  in  Miranda.  Anyone 
may  see  just  how  it  happened,  and  many  know  ex- 
actly how  Horace  felt  from  the  moment  when  the  Bore 
buttonholed  him  at  the  corner  of  the  Julian  Basilica  till 
his  final  deliverance  near  the  corner  of  the  Triumphal 
Road,  which  is  now  the  Via  di  San  Gregorio. 


72 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


There  was  much  more  resemblance  to  our  modern  life 
than  one  might  think  at  first  sight.  Perhaps,  after  his 
timely  escape,  Horace  turned  back  along  the  Sacred 
Street,  followed  by  his  single  slave,  and  retraced  his 
steps,  past  the  temple  of  Vesta,  the  temple  of  Julius 
Caesar,  skirting  the  Roman  Forum  to  the  Golden  Mile- 


ATRIUM  OF  VESTA 


stone  at  the  foot  of  the  ascent  to  the  Capitol,  from  which 
landmark  all  the  distances  in  the  Roman  Empire  were 
reckoned,  the  very  centre  of  the  known  world.  Thence, 
perhaps,  he  turned  up  towards  the  Argiletum,  with 
something  of  that  instinct  which  takes  a modern  man 
of  letters  to  his  publisher’s  when  he  is  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. There  the  ‘ Brothers  Sosii’  had  their  publishing 
establishment,  among  many  others  of  the  same  nature, 


/ 


The  City  of  Augustus 


73 


and  employed  a great  staff  of  copyists  in  preparing 
volumes  for  sale.  All  the  year  round  the  skilled  scribes 
sat  within  in  rows,  with  pen  and  ink,  working  at  the 
manufacture  of  books.  The  Sosii  Brothers  were  rich, 
and  probably  owned  their  workmen  as  slaves,  both  the 
writers  and  those  who  prepared  the  delicate  materials, 
the  wonderful  ink,  of  which  we  have  not  the  like  to- 
day, the  fine  sheets  of  papyrus,  — Pliny  tells  how  they 
were  sometimes  too  rough,  and  how  they  sometimes 
soaked  up  the  ink  like  a cloth,  as  happens  with  our 
own  paper,  — and  the  carefully  cut  pens  of  Egyptian 
reed  on  which  so  much  of  the  neatness  in  writing  de- 
pended, though  Cicero  says  somewhere  that  he  could 
write  with  any  pen  he  chanced  to  take  up. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  Horace  should  look  in  to 
ask  how  his  latest  book  was  selling,  or  more  probably 
his  first,  for  he  had  written  but  a few  Epodes  and  not 
many  Satires  at  the  time  when  he  met  the  immortal 
Bore.  Later  in  his  life,  his  books  were  published  in 
editions  of  a thousand,  as  is  the  modern  custom  in 
Paris,  and  were  sold  all  over  the  Empire,  like  those  of 
other  famous  authors.  The  Satires  did  him  little  credit, 
and  probably  brought  him  but  little  money  at  their  first 
publication.  It  seems  certain  that  they  have  come  down 
to  us  through  a single  copy.  The  Greek  form  of  the 
Odes  pleased  people  better.  Moreover,  some  of  the 
early  Satires  made  distinguished  people  shy  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  when  he  told  the  Bore  that  Maecenas 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


74 

was  difficult  of  access  he  remembered  that  nine  months 
had  elapsed  from  the  time  of  his  own  introduction  to 
the  great  man  until  he  had  received  the  latter’s  first 
invitation  to  dinner.  More  than  once  he  went  almost 
too  far  in  his  attacks  on  men  and  things  and  then  tried 
to  remove  the  disagreeable  impression  he  had  pro- 
duced, and  wrote  again  of  the  same  subject  in  a dif- 
ferent spirit — notably  when  he  attacked  the  works  of 
the  dead  poet  Lucilius  and  was  afterwards  obliged  to 
explain  himself. 

No  doubt  he  often  idled  away  a whole  morning  at  his 
publisher’s,  looking  over  new  books  of  other  authors, 
and  very  probably  borrowing  them  to  take  home  with 
him,  because  he  was  poor,  and  he  assuredly  must  have 
talked  over  with  the  Sosii  the  impression  produced  on 
the  public  by  his  latest  poems.  He  was  undoubtedly  a 
quaestor’s  scribe,  but  it  is  more  than  doubtful  whether 
he  ever  went  near  the  Treasury  or  did  any  kind  of 
clerk’s  work.  If  he  ever  did,  it  is  odd  that  he  should 
never  speak  of  it,  nor  take  anecdotes  from  such  an  oc- 
cupation and  from  the  clerks  with  whom  he  must  have 
been  thrown,  for  he  certainly  used  every  other  sort  of 
social  material  in  the  Satires.  Among  the  few  allusions 
to  anything  of  the  kind  in  his  works  are  his  ridicule  of 
the  over-dressed  praetor  of  the  town  of  Fundi,  who  had 
been  a government  clerk  in  Rome,  and  in  the  same 
story,  his  jest  at  one  of  Maecenas’  parasites,  a freed- 
man,  and  nominally  a Treasury  clerk,  as  Horace  had 


The  City  of  Augustus  75 

been.  In  another  Satire,  the  clerks  in  a body  wish  him 
to  be  present  at  one  of  their  meetings. 

Perhaps  what  strikes  one  most  in  the  study  of 
Horace,  which  means  the  study  of  the  Augustan  age, 
is  the  vivid  contrast  between  the  man  who  composed 
the  Carmen  Saeculare,  the  sacred  hymn  sung  on  the 
tenth  anniversary  of  Augustus’  accession  to  the  imperial 
power,  besides  many  odes  that  breathe  a pristine  rever- 
ence for  the  gods,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  writer  of 
satirical,  playfully  sceptical  verses,  who  comments  on 
the  story  of  the  incense  melting  without  fire  at  the 
temple  of  Egnatia,  with  the  famous  and  often-quoted 
‘Credat  Judaeus’!  The  original  Romans  had  been  a 
believing  people,  most  careful  in  all  ceremonies  and 
observances,  visiting  anything  like  sacrilege  with  a cool 
ferocity  worthy  of  the  Christian  religious  wars  in  later 
days.  Horace,  at  one  time  or  another,  laughs  at  almost 
every  god  and  goddess  in  the  heathen  calendar,  and 
publishes  his  jests,  in  editions  of  a thousand  copies, 
with  perfect  indifference  and  complete  immunity  from 
censorship,  while  apparently  bestowing  a certain  amount 
of  care  on  household  sacrifices  and  the  like. 

The  fact  is  that  the  Romans  were  a religious  people, 
whereas  the  Italians  were  not.  It  is  a singular  fact  that 
Rome,  when  left  long  to  herself,  has  always  shown  a 
tendency  to  become  systematically  devout,  whereas 
most  of  the  other  Italian  states  have  exhibited  an 
equally  strong  inclination  to  a scepticism  not  unfre- 


76 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


quently  mixed  with  the  grossest  superstition.  It  must 
be  left  to  more  profound  students  of  humanity  to  decide 
whether  certain  places  have  a permanent  influence  in 
one  determined  direction  upon  the  successive  races  that 
inhabit  them  ; but  it  is  quite  undeniably  true  that  the 
Romans  of  all  ages  have  tended  to  religion  of  some 
sort  in  the  most  marked  manner.  In  Roman  history 
there  is  a succession  of  religious  epochs  not  to  be  found 
in  the  annals  of  any  other  city.  First,  the  early  faith 
of  the  Kings,  interrupted  by  the  irruption  of  Greek 
influences  which  began  approximately  with  Scipio  Afri- 
canus ; next,  the  wild  Bacchic  worship  that  produced 
the  secret  orgies  on  the  Aventine,  the  discovery  of 
which  led  to  a religious  persecution  and  the  execution 
of  thousands  of  persons  on  religious  grounds ; then  the 
worship  of  the  Egyptian  deities,  brought  over  to  Rome 
in  a new  fit  of  belief,  and  at  the  same  time,  or  soon 
afterwards,  the  mysterious  adoration  of  the  Persian 
Mithras,  a gross  and  ignorant  form  of  mysticism  which, 
nevertheless,  took  hold  of  the  people,  at  a time  when 
other  religions  were  almost  reduced  to  a matter  of  form. 

Then,  as  all  these  many  faiths  lost  vitality,  Christian- 
ity arose,  the  terribly  simple  and  earnest  Christianity 
of  the  early  centuries,  sown  first  under  the  Caesars,  in 
Rome’s  secure  days,  developing  to  a power  when  Rome 
was  left  to  herself  by  the  transference  of  the  Empire  to 
the  East,  culminating  for  the  first  time  in  the  crowning 
of  Charlemagne,  again  in  the  Crusades,  sinking  under 


The  City  of  Augustus 


77 


the  revival  of  mythology  and  Hellenism  during  the 
Renascence,  rising  again,  by  slow  degrees,  to  the  ex- 
treme level  of  devotion  under  Pius  the  Ninth  and  the 
French  protectorate,  sinking  suddenly  with  the  move- 
ment of  Italian  unity,  and  the  coming  of  the  Italians  in 
1870,  then  rising  again,  as  we  see  it  now,  with  undying 
energy,  under  Leo  the  Thirteenth,  and  showing  itself 
in  the  building  of  new  churches,  in  the  magnificent 
restoration  of  old  ones,  and  in  the  vast  second  growth 
of  ecclesiastical  institutions,  which  are  once  more  turn- 
ing Rome  into  a clerical  city,  now  that  she  is  again  at 
peace  with  herself,  under  a constitutional  monarchy, 
but  threatened  only  too  plainly  by  an  impending  an- 
archic revolution.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  in  the  his- 
tory of  any  other  city  a parallel  to  such  periodical 
recurrences  of  religious  domination.  Nor,  in  times 
when  belief  has  been  at  its  lowest  ebb,  have  outward 
religious  practices  anywhere  continued  to  hold  so  im- 
portant a place  in  men’s  lives  as  they  have  always 
held  in  Rome.  Of  all  Rome’s  mad  tyrants,  Elagabalus 
alone  dared  to  break  into  the  temple  of  Vesta  and  carry 
out  the  sacred  Palladium.  During  more  than  eleven 
hundred  years,  six  Vestal  Virgins  guarded  the  sacred 
fire  and  the  Holy  Things  of  Rome,  in  peace  and  war, 
through  kingdom,  republic,  revolution  and  empire. 
For  fifteen  hundred  years  since  then,  the  bones  of  Saint 
Peter  have  been  respected  by  the  Emperors,  by  Goths, 
by  Kings,  revolutions  and  short-lived  republics. 


BRASS  OF  GORDIAN,  SHOWING  THE  COLOSSEUM 


IV 


There  was  a surprising  strength  in  those  early 
institutions  of  which  the  fragmentary  survival  has 
made  Rome  what  it  is.  Strongest  of  all,  perhaps,  was 
the  patriarchal  mode  of  life  which  the  shepherds  of 
Alba  Longa  brought  with  them  when  they  fled  from 
the  volcano,  and  of  which  the  most  distinct  traces 
remain  to  the  present  day,  while  its  origin  goes  back 
to  the  original  Aryan  home.  Upon  that  principle  all 
the  household  life  ultimately  turned  in  Rome’s  greatest 
times.  The  Senators  were  Patres,  conscript  fathers, 
heads  of  strong  houses ; the  Patricians  were  those  who 
had  known  ‘ fathers,’  that  is,  a known  and  noble 
descent.  Horace  called  Senators  simply  ‘ Conscripts,’ 
and  the  Roman  nobles  of  today  call  themselves  the 
‘Conscript’  families.  The  chain  of  tradition  is  un- 
broken from  Romulus  to  our  own  time,  while  every- 
thing else  has  changed  in  greater  or  less  degree. 


79 


The  Middle  Age 

It  is  hard  for  Anglo-Saxons  to  believe  that,  for  more 
than  a thousand  years,  a Roman  father  possessed  the 
absolute  legal  right  to  try,  condemn  and  execute  any 
of  his  children,  without  witnesses,  in  his  own  house 
and  without  consulting  anyone.  Yet  nothing  is  more 
certain.  ‘ From  the  most  remote  ages/  says  Professor 
Lanciani,  the  highest  existing  authority,  ‘the  power  of 
a Roman  father  over  his  children,  including  those  by 
adoption  as  well  as  by  blood,  was  unlimited.  A father 
might,  without  violating  any  law,  scourge  or  imprison 
his  son,  or  sell  him  for  a slave,  or  put  him  to  death, 
even  after  that  son  had  risen  to  the  highest  honours  in 
the  state.’  During  the  life  of  the  father,  a child,  no 
matter  of  what  age,  could  own  no  property  indepen- 
dently, nor  keep  any  private  accounts,  nor  dispose  of 
any  little  belongings,  no  matter  how  insignificant,  with- 
out the  father’s  consent,  which  was  never  anything 
more  than  an  act  of  favour,  and  was  revocable  at  any 
moment,  without  notice.  If  a son  became  a public 
magistrate,  the  power  was  suspended,  but  was  again  in 
force  as  soon  as  the  period  of  office  terminated.  A 
man  who  had  been  Dictator  of  Rome  became  his 
father’s  slave  and  property  again,  as  soon  as  his  dic- 
tatorship ended. 

But  if  the  son  married  with  his  father’s  consent,  he 
was  partly  free,  and  became  a ‘ father  ’ in  his  turn, 
and  absolute  despot  of  his  own  household.  So,  if  a 
daughter  married,  she  passed  from  her  father’s  domim 


8o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


ion  to  that  of  her  husband.  A Priest  of  Jupiter  for 
life  was  free.  So  was  a Vestal  Virgin.  There  was  a 
complicated  legal  trick  by  which  the  father  could 
liberate  his  son  if  he  wished  to  do  so  for  any  reason, 
but  he  had  no  power  to  set  any  of  his  children  free  by 
a mere  act  of  will,  without  legal  formality.  The  bare 
fact  that  the  men  of  a people  should  be  not  only  trusted 
with  such  power,  but  that  it  should  be  forcibly  thrust 
upon  them,  gives  an  idea  of  the  Roman  character, 
and  it  is  natural  enough  that  the  condition  of  family 
life  imposed  by  such  laws  should  have  had  pro- 
nounced effects  that  may  still  be  felt.  As  the  Romans 
were  a hardy  race  and  long-lived,  when  they  were  not 
killed  in  battle,  the  majority  of  men  were  under  the 
absolute  control  of  their  fathers  till  the  age  of  forty  or 
fifty  years,  unless  they  married  with  their  parents’  con- 
sent, in  which  case  they  advanced  one  step  towards 
liberty,  and  at  all  events,  could  not  be  sold  as  slaves 
by  their  fathers,  though  they  still  had  no  right  to  buy 
or  sell  property  nor  to  make  a will. 

There  are  few  instances  of  the  law  being  abused, 
even  in  the  most  ferocious  times.  Brutus  had  the  right 
to  execute  his  sons,  who  conspired  for  the  Tarquins, 
without  any  public  trial.  He  preferred  the  latter. 
Titus  Manlius  caused  his  son  to  be  publicly  beheaded 
for  disobeying  a military  order  in  challenging  an  enemy 
to  single  combat,  slaying  him,  and  bringing  back  the 
spoils.  He  might  have  cut  off  his  head  in  private,  so 


/ 


8 1 


The  Middle  Age 

far  as  the  law  was  concerned,  for  any  reason  whatso- 
ever, great  or  small. 

As  for  the  condition  of  real  slaves,  it  was  not  so  bad 
in  early  times  as  it  became  later,  but  the  master’s  power 
was  absolute  to  inflict  torture  and  death  in  any  shape. 
In  slave-owning  communities,  barbarity  has  always 
been,  to  some  extent,  restrained  by  the  actual  value  of 
the  humanity  in  question,  and  slaves  were  not  as  cheap 
in  Rome  as  might  be  supposed.  A perfectly  ignorant 
labourer  of  sound  body  was  worth  from  eighty  to  a hun- 
dred dollars  of  our  money,  which  meant  much  more  in 
those  days,  though  in  later  times  twice  that  sum  was 
sometimes  paid  for  a single  fine  fish.  The  money  value 
of  the  slave  was,  nevertheless,  always  a sort  of  guar- 
antee of  safety  to  himself ; but  men  who  had  right  of 
life  and  death  over  their  own  children,  and  who  occa- 
sionally exercised  it,  were  probably  not,  as  a rule,  very 
considerate  to  creatures  who  were  bought  and  sold  like 
cattle.  Nevertheless,  the  number  of  slaves  who  were 
freed  and  enriched  by  their  masters  is  really  surprising. 

The  point  of  all  this,  however,  is  that  the  head  of  a 
Roman  family  was,  under  protection  of  all  laws  and 
* traditions,  an  absolute  tyrant  over  his  wife,  his  children, 
and  his  servants ; and  the  Roman  Senate  was  a chosen 
association  of  such  tyrants.  It  is  astonishing  that  they 
should  have  held  so  long  to  the  forms  of  a republican 
government,  and  should  never  have  completely  lost 
their  republican  traditions. 


VOL. 


G 


82 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


In  this  household  tyranny,  existing  side  by  side  with 
certain  general  ideas  of  liberty  and  constitutional  gov- 
ernment, under  the  ultimate  domination  of  the  Emper- 
ors’ despotism  as  introduced  by  Augustus,  is  to  be 
found  the  keynote  of  Rome’s  subsequent  social  life. 
Without  those  things,  the  condition  of  society  in  the 
Middle  Age  would  be  inexplicable,  and  the  feudal 
system  could  never  have  developed.  The  old  Roman 
principle  that  ‘ order  should  have  precedence  over 
order,  not  man  over  man,’  rules  most  of  Europe  at  the 
present  day,  though  in  Rome  and  Italy  it  is  now  com- 
pletely eclipsed  by  a form  of  government  which  can 
only  be  defined  as  a monarchic  democracy. 

The  mere  fact  that  under  Augustus  no  man  was 
eligible  to  the  Senate  who  possessed  less  than  a sum 
equal  to  a quarter  of  a million  dollars,  shows  plainly 
enough  what  one  of  the  most  skilful  despots  who  ever 
ruled  mankind  wisely,  thought  of  the  institution.  It 
was  intended  to  balance,  by  its  solidity,  the  ever-un- 
settled instincts  of  the  people,  to  prevent  «*s  far  as 
possible  the  unwise  passage  of  laws  by  popular  acclama* 
tion,  and,  so  to  say,  to  regulate  the  pulse  of  the  nation. 
It  has  been  imitated,  in  one  way  or  another,  by  all  the 
nations  we  call  civilized. 

But  the  father  of  the  family  was  in  his  own  person 
the  despot,  the  senate,  the  magistrate  and  the  execu- 
tive of  the  law ; his  wife,  his  children  and  his  slaves 
represented  the  people,  constantly  and  eternally  in  real^ 


/ 


83 


The  Middle  Age 

or  theoretical  opposition,  while  he  was  protected  by  all 
the  force  of  the  most  ferocious  laws.  A father  could 
behead  his  son  with  impunity ; but  the  son  who  killed 
his  father  was  condemned  to  be  all  but  beaten  to  death, 
and  then  to  be  sewn  up  in  a leathern  sack  and 
drowned.  The  father  could  take  everything  from  the 
son ; but  if  the  son  took  the  smallest  thing  from  his 
father  he  was  a common  thief  and  malefactor,  and 
liable  to  be  treated  as  one,  at  his  father’s  pleasure. 
The  conception  of  justice  in  Rome  never  rested  upon 
any  equality,  but  always  upon  the  precedence  of  one 
order  over  another,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest. 
There  were  orders  even  among  the  slaves,  and  one  who 
had  been  allowed  to  save  money  out  of  his  allowances 
could  himself  buy  a slave  to  wait  on  him,  if  he  chose. 

Hence  the  immediate  origin  of  European  caste,  of 
different  degrees  of  nobility,  of  the  relative  standing  of 
the  liberal  professions,  of  the  mediaeval  guilds  of  arti- 
sans and  tradesmen,  and  of  the  numerous  subdivisions 
of  the  agricultural  classes,  of  which  traces  survive  all 
over  Europe.  The  tendency  to  caste  is  essentially  and 
originally  Aryan,  and  will  never  be  wholly  eliminated 
from  any  branch  of  the  Aryan  race. 

One  may  fairly  compare  the  internal  life  of  a great 
nation  to  a building  which  rises  from  its  foundations 
story  by  story  until  the  lower  part  can  no  longer  carry 
the  weight  of  the  superstructure,  and  the  first  signs  of 
, weakness  begin  to  show  themselves  in  the  oldest  and 


84 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


lowest  portion  of  the  whole.  Carefully  repaired,  when 
the  weakness  is  noticed  at  all,  it  can  bear  a little  more, 
and  again  a little,  but  at  last  the  breaking  strain  is 
reached,  the  tall  building  totters,  the  highest  pinnacles 
topple  over,  then  the  upper  story  collapses,  and  the  end 
comes  either  in  the  crash  of  a great  falling  or,  by 
degrees,  in  the  irreparable  ruin  of  ages.  But  when  all 
is  over,  and  wind  and  weather  and  time  have  swept 
away  what  they  can,  parts  of  the  original  foundation 
still  stand  up  rough  and  heavy,  on  which  a younger  and 
smaller  people  must  build  their  new  dwelling,  if  they 
build  at  all. 

The  aptness  of  the  simile  is  still  more  apparent  when 
we  confront  the  material  constructions  of  a nation  with 
the  degree  of  the  nation’s  development  or  decadence  at 
the  time  when  the  work  was  done. 

It  is  only  by  doing  something  of  that  sort  that  we 
can  at  all  realize  the  connection  between  the  settlement 
of  the  shepherds,  the  Rome  of  the  Caesars,  and  the 
desolate  and  scantily  populated  fighting  ground  of  the 
Barons,  upon  which,  with  the  Renascence,  the  city  of 
the  later  Popes  began  to  rise  under  Nicholas  the  Fifth. 
And  lastly,  without  a little  of  such  general  knowledge 
it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  call  up,  even  faintly, 
the  lives  of  Romans  in  successive  ages.  Read  the 
earlier  parts  of  Livy’s  histories  and  try  to  picture  the 
pristine  simplicity  of  those  primeval  times.  Read 
Caesar  s Gallic  War,  the  marvellously  concise  reports  of 


»5 


The  Middle  Age 

the  greatest  man  that  ever  lived,  during  ten  years  of 
his  conquests.  Read  Horace,  and  attempt  to  see  a 
little  of  what  he  describes  in  his  good-natured,  easy 
way.  Read  the  correspondence  of  the  younger  Pliny 
when  proconsul  in  Bithynia  under  Trajan,  and  follow 
the  extraordinary  details  of  administration  which,  with 
ten  thousand  others,  the  Spanish  Emperor  of  Rome 
carried  in  his  memory,  and  directed  and  decided.  Take 
Petronius  Arbiter’s  ‘ novel  ’ next,  the  Satyricon,  if  you 
be  not  over-delicate  in  taste,  and  glance  at  the  daily 
journal  of  a dissolute  wretch  wandering  from  one  scene 
of  incredible  vice  to  another.  And  so  on,  through  the 
later  writers ; and  from  among  the  vast  annals  of 
the  industrious  Muratori  pick  out  bits  of  Roman  life  at 
different  periods,  and  try  to  piece  them  together.  At 
first  sight  it  seems  utterly  impossible  that  one  and  the 
same  people  should  have  passed  through  such  social 
changes  and  vicissitudes.  Every  educated  man  knows 
the  main  points  through  which  the  chain  ran.  Schol- 
ars have  spent  their  lives  in  the  attempt  to  restore 
even  a few  of  the  links  and,  for  the  most  part,  have 
lost  their  way  in  the  dry  quicksands  that  have  swal- 
lowed up  so  much. 

‘ I have  raised  a monument  more  enduring  than 
bronze ! ’ exclaimed  Horace,  in  one  of  his  rare  moments 
of  pardonable  vanity.  The  expression  meant  much  more 
then  than  it  does  now.  The  golden  age  of  Rome  was 
an  age  of  brazen  statues  apparently  destined  to  last  as 


86 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


long  as  history.  Yet  the  marble  outlasted  the  gilded 
metal,  and  Horace’s  verse  outlived  both,  and  the  names 
of  the  artists  of  that  day  are  mostly  forgotten,  while 
his  is  a household  word.  In  conquering  races,  litera- 
ture has  generally  attained  higher  excellence  than 
painting  or  sculpture,  or  architecture,  for  the  arts  are 
the  expression  of  a people’s  tastes,  often  incomprehen- 
sible to  men  who  live  a thousand  years  later ; but  litera- 
ture, if  it  expresses  anything,  either  by  poetry,  history, 
or  fiction,  shows  the  feeling  of  humanity;  and  the 
human  being,  as  such,  changes  very  little  in  twenty 
or  thirty  centuries.  Achilles,  in  his  wrath  at  being 
robbed  of  the  lovely  Brisei's,  brings  the  age  of  Troy 
nearer  to  most  men  in  its  living  vitality  than  the 
matchless  Hermes  of  Olympia  can  ever  bring  the  cen- 
tury of  Greece’s  supremacy.  One  line  of  Catullus 
makes  his  time  more  alive  today  than  the  huge  mass 
of  the  Colosseum  can  ever  make  Titus  seem.  We  see 
the  great  stones  piled  up  to  heaven,  but  we  do  not 
see  the  men  who  hewed  them,  and  lifted  them,  and 
set  them  in  place.  The  true  poet  gives  us  the  real 
man,  and  after  all,  men  are  more  important  than 
stones.  Yet  the  work  of  men’s  hands  explains  the 
working  of  men’s  hearts,  telling  us  not  what  they  felt, 
but  how  the  feelings  which  ever  belong  to  all  men 
more  particularly  affected  the  actors  at  one  time  or 
another  during  the  action  of  the  world’s  long  play. 
Little  things  sometimes  tell  the  longest  stories. 


/ 


The  Middle  Age 


87 


THE  COLOSSEUM 


Pliny,  suffering  from  sore  eyes,  going  about  in  a 
closed  carriage,  or  lying  in  the  darkened  basement 
portico  of  his  house,  obliged  to  dictate  his  letters,  and 
unable  to  read,  sends  his  thanks  — by  dictation  — to 
his  friend  and  colleague,  Cornutus,  for  a fowl  sent 
him,  and  says  that  although  he  is  half  blind,  his  eyes 
are  sharp  enough  to  see  that  it  is  a very  fat  one. 
The  touch  of  human  nature  makes  the  whole  picture 
live.  Horace,  journeying  to  Brindisi,  and  trying  to 
sleep  a little  on  a canal  boat,  is  kept  awake  by  mos- 
quitoes and  croaking  frogs,  and  by  the  long-drawn-out, 
tipsy  singing  of  a drunken  sailor,  who  at  last  turns 
off  the  towing  mule  to  graze,  and  goes  to  sleep  till 
daylight.  It  is  easier  to  see  all  this  than  to  call  up 


88 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


one  instant  of  a chariot  race  in  the  great  circus,  or  one 
of  the  ten  thousand  fights  in  the  Colosseum,  wherein 
gladiators  fought  and  died,  and  left  no  word  of  them- 
selves. 

Yet,  without  the  setting,  the  play  is  imperfect,  and 
we  must  have  some  of  the  one  to  understand  the  other. 
For  human  art  is,  in  the  first  place,  a progressive  com- 
mentary on  human  nature,  and  again,  in  quick  reaction, 
stimulates  it  with  a suggestive  force.  Little  as  we 
really  know  of  the  imperial  times,  we  cannot  conceive 
of  Rome  without  the  Romans,  nor  of  the  Romans  with- 
out Rome.  They  belonged  together ; when  the  seat  of 
Empire  became  cosmopolitan,  the  great  dominion  began 
to  be  weakened ; and  when  a homogeneous  power 
dwelt  in  the  city  again,  a new  domination  had  its  be- 
ginning, and  was  built  up  on  the  ruins  of  the  old. 

Napoleon  is  believed  to  have  said  that  the  object  of 
art  is  to  create  and  foster  agreeable  illusions.  Admit- 
ting the  general  truth  of  the  definition,  it  appears  per- 
fectly natural  that  since  the  Romans  had  little  or  no 
art  of  their  own,  they  should  have  begun  to  import 
Greek  art  just  when  they  did,  after  the  successful  issue 
of  the  Second  Punic  War.  Up  to  that  time  the  great 
struggle  had  lasted.  When  it  was  over,  the  rest  was 
almost  a foregone  conclusion.  Rome  and  Carthage  had 
made  a great  part  of  the  known  world  their  fighting 
ground  in  the  duel  that  lasted  a hundred  and  eighteen 
years ; and  the  known  world  was  the  portion  of  the 


89 


The  Middle  Age 

victor.  Spoil  first,  for  spoil’s  sake,  he  brought  home ; 
then  spoil  for  the  sake  of  art ; then  art  for  what  itself 
could  give  him.  In  the  fight  for  Empire,  as  in  each 
man’s  struggle  for  life,  success  means  leisure,  and  there- 
fore civilization,  which  is  the  growth  of  people  who 
have  time  at  their  disposal  — time  to  ‘ create  and  foster 
agreeable  illusions.’  When  the  Romans  conquered  the 
Samnites  they  were  the  least  artistic  people  in  the 
world ; when  Augustus  Caesar  died,  they  possessed  and 
valued  the  greater  part  of  the  world’s  artistic  treasures, 
many  of  these  already  centuries  old,  and  they  owned 
literally,  and  as  slaves,  a majority  of  the  best  living 
artists.  Augustus  had  been  educated  in  Athens;  he 
determined  that  Rome  should  be  as  Athens,  magnified 
a hundred  times.  Athens  had  her  thousand  statues, 
Rome  should  have  her  ten  thousand ; Rome  should 
have  state  libraries  holding  a score  of  volumes  for  every 
one  that  Greece  could  boast ; Rome’s  temples  should  be 
galleries  of  rare  paintings,  ten  for  each  that  Athens 
had.  Rome  should  be  so  great,  so  rich,  so  gorgeous, 
that  Greece  should  be  as  nothing  beside  her;  Egypt 
should  dwindle  to  littleness,  and  the  memory  of  Baby- 
lon should  be  forgotten.  Greece  had  her  Homer,  her 
Sophocles,  her  Anacreon ; Rome  should  have  her  im- 
mortals also. 

Greatly  Augustus  laboured  for  his  thought,  and 
grandly  he  carried  out  his  plan.  He  became  the  great- 
est ‘ art-collector  ’ in  all  history,  and  the  men  of  his 


90 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


time  imitated  him.  Domitius  Tullus,  a Roman  gentle* 
man,  had  collected  so  much,  that  he  was  able  to  adorn 
certain  extensive  gardens,  on  the  very  day  of  the  pur- 
chase, with  an  immense  number  of  genuine  ancient 
statues,  which  had  been  lying,  half  neglected,  in  a 
barn  — or,  as  some  read  the  passage,  in  other  gar- 
dens of  his. 

Augustus  succeeded  in  one  way.  Possibly  he  was 
successful  in  his  own  estimation.  ‘ Have  I not  acted 
the  play  well?’  they  say  he  asked,  just  before  he  died. 
The  keynote  is  there,  whether  he  spoke  the  words 
or  not.  He  did  all  from  calculation,  nothing  from 
conviction.  The  artist,  active  and  creative  or  passive 
and  appreciative,  calculates  nothing  except  the  means 
of  expressing  his  conviction.  And  in  the  over- 

calculating of  effects  by  Augustus  and  his  successors, 
one  of  the  most  singular  weaknesses  of  the  Latin  race 
was  thrust  forward ; namely,  that  giantism  or  megalo- 
mania, which  has  so  often  stamped  the  principal  works 
of  the  Latins  in  all  ages  — that  effort  to  express  great- 
ness by  size,  which  is  so  conspicuously  absent  from 
all  that  the  Greeks  have  left  us.  Agrippa  builds  a 
threefold  temple  and  Hadrian  rears  the  Pantheon  upon 
its  charred  ruins ; Constantine  builds  his  Basilica ; 
Michelangelo  says,  ‘ I will  set  the  Pantheon  upon  the 
Basilica  of  Constantine.’  He  does  it,  and  the  result  is 
Saint  Peter’s,  which  covers  more  ground  than  that  other 
piece  of  giantism,  the  Colosseum  ; in  Rome’s  last  and 


9i 


The  Middle  Age 

modern  revival,  the  Palazzo  delle  Finanze  is  built,  the 
Treasury  of  the  poorest  of  the  Powers,  which,  incredi- 
ble as  it  may  seem,  fills  a far  greater  area  than  either 
the  Colosseum  or  the  Church  of  Saint  Peter’s.  What 
else  is  such  constructive  enormity  but  * giantism  ’ ? For 
the  great  Cathedral  of  Christendom,  it  may  be  said,  at 
least,  that  it  has  more  than  once  in  history  been  nearly 
filled  by  devout  multitudes,  numbering  fifty  or  sixty 
thousand  people ; in  the  days  of  public  baths,  nearly 
sixty-three  thousand  Romans  could  bathe  daily  with 
every  luxury  of  service ; when  bread  and  games  were 
free,  a hundred  thousand  men  and  women  often  sat 
down  in  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre  to  see  men  tear  each 
other  to  pieces ; of  the  modern  Ministry  of  Finance 
there  is  nothing  to  be  said.  The  Roman  curses  it  for 
the  millions  it  cost ; but  the  stranger  looks,  smiles  and 
passes  by  a blank  and  hideous  building  three  hundred 
yards  long.  There  is  no  reason  why  a nation  should 
not  wish  to  be  great,  but  there  is  every  reason  why  a 
small  nation  should  not  try  to  look  big ; and  the 
enormous  follies  of  modern  Italy  must  be  charitably 
attributed  to  a defect  of  judgment  which  has  existed 
in  the  Latin  peoples  from  the  beginning,  and  has  by 
no  means  disappeared  today.  The  younger  Gordian 
began  a portico  which  was  to  cover  forty-four  thousand 
square  yards,  and  intended  to  raise  a statue  of  himself 
two  hundred  and  nineteen  feet  high.  The  modern 
Treasury  building  covers  about  thirty  thousand  square 


92 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


yards,  and  goes  far  to  rival  the  foolish  Emperor’s 
insane  scheme. 

Great  contrasts  lie  in  the  past,  between  his  age  and 
ours.  One  must  guess  at  them  at  least,  if  one  have 
but  little  knowledge,  in  order  to  understand  at  all  the 


RUINS  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  SATURN 


city  of  the  Middle  Age  and  the  Rome  we  see  today. 
Imagine  it  at  its  greatest,  a capital  inhabited  by  more 
than  two  millions  of  souls,  filling  all  that  is  left  to 
be  seen  within  and  without  the  walls,  and  half  the 
Campagna  besides,  spreading  out  in  a vast  disc  of 
seething  life  from  the  central  Golden  Milestone  at  the 
corner  of  the  temple  of  Saturn — the  god  of  remote 


The  Middle  Age 


93 


ages,  and  of  earth’s  dim  beginning;  see,  if  you  can, 
the  splendid  roads,  where  to  right  and  left  the  ashes 
of  the  great  rested  in  tombs  gorgeous  with  marble  and 
gold  and  bronze ; see  the  endless  villas  and  gardens 
and  terraces  lining  both  banks  of  the  Tiber,  with  trees 
and  flowers  and  marble  palaces,  from  Rome  to  Ostia  and 
the  sea,  and  both  banks  of  the  Anio,  from  Rome  to 
Tivoli  in  the  hills ; conceive  of  the  vast  commerce, 
even  of  the  mere  business  of  supply  to  feed  two 
millions  of  mouths ; picture  the  great  harbour  with 
its  thousand  vessels  — and  some  of  those  that  brought 
grain  from  Egypt  were  four  hundred  feet  long ; remem- 
ber its  vast  granaries  and  store-barns  and  offices ; think 
of  the  desolate  Isola  Sacra  as  a lovely  garden,  of  the 
ruins  of  Laurentum  as  an  imperial  palace  and  park; 
reckon  up  roughly  what  all  that  meant  of  life,  of  power, 
of  incalculable  wealth.  Mark  Antony  squandered,  in 
his  short  lifetime,  eight  hundred  millions  of  pounds 
sterling,  four  thousand  millions  of  dollars.  Guess,  if 
possible,  at  the  myriad  million  details  of  the  vast  city. 

Then  let  twelve  hundred  years  pass  in  a dream,  and 
look  at  the  Rome  of  Rienzi.  Some  twenty  thousand 
souls,  the  remnant  and  the  one  hundredth  part  of  the 
two  millions,  dwell  pitifully  in  the  ruins  of  which  the 
strongest  men  have  fortified  bits  here  and  there. 
The  walls  of  Aurelian,  broken  and  war-worn  and  full 
of  half-repaired  breaches,  enclose  a desert,  a world  too 
wide  for  its  inhabitants,  a vast  straggling  heterogene- 


94 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


ous  mass  of  buildings  in  every  stage  of  preservation 
and  decay,  splendid  temples,  mossy  and  ivy-grown,  but 
scarcely  injured  by  time,  then  wastes  of  broken  brick 
and  mortar;  stern  dark  towers  of  Savelli,  and  Fran- 
gipani, and  Orsini,  and  Colonna,  dominating  and  threat- 
ening whole  quarters  of  ruins ; strange  small  churches 
built  of  odds  and  ends  and  remnants  not  too  heavy  for 
a few  workmen  to  move ; broken-down  aqueducts 
sticking  up  here  and  there  in  a city  that  had  to  drink 
the  muddy  water  of  the  Tiber  because  not  a single 
channel  remained  whole  to  feed  a single  fountain,  from 
the  distant  springs  that  had  once  filled  baths  for  sixty 
thousand  people  every  day.  And  round  about  all,  the 
waste  Campagna,  scratched  here  and  there  by  fever- 
stricken  peasants  to  yield  the  little  grain  that  so  few 
men  could  need.  The  villas  gone,  the  trees  burned  or 
cut  down,  the  terraces  slipped  away  into  the  rivers,  the 
tombs  of  the  Appian  Way  broken  and  falling  to  pieces, 
or  transformed  into  rude  fortresses  held  by  wild-look- 
ing men  in  rusty  armour,  who  sallied  out  to  fight  each 
other  or,  at  rare  intervals,  to  rob  some  train  of  wretched 
merchants,  riding  horses  as  rough  and  wild  as  them- 
selves. Law  gone,  and  order  gone  with  it;  wealth 
departed,  and  self-respect  forgotten  in  abject  poverty ; 
each  man  defending  his  little  with  his  own  hand  against 
the  many  who  coveted  it;  Rome  a den  of  robbers  and 
thieves;  the  Pope,  when  there  was  one,  — there  was 
none  in  the  year  of  Rienzi’s  birth,  — either  defended  by 


95 


The  Middle  Age 

one  baron  against  another,  or  forced  to  fly  for  his  life. 
Men  brawling  in  the  streets,  ill  clad,  savage,  ready  with 
sword  and  knife  and  club  for  any  imaginable  violence. 
Women  safe  from  none  but  their  own  husbands  and 
sons,  and  not  always  from  them.  Children  wild  and 
untaught,  growing  up  to  be  fierce  and  unlettered  like 
their  fathers.  And  in  the  midst  of  such  a city,  Cola  di 
Rienzi,  with  great  heart  and  scanty  learning,  labouring 
to  decipher  the  inscriptions  that  told  of  dead  and  ruined 
greatness,  dreaming  of  a republic,  of  a tribune’s  power, 
of  the  humiliation  of  the  Barons,  of  a resurrection  for 
Italy  and  of  her  sudden  return  to  the  dominion  of  the 
world. 

Rome,  then,  was  like  a field  long  fallow,  of  rich  soil, 
but  long  unploughed.  Scarcely  below  the  surface  lay 
the  treasures  of  ages,  undreamt  of  by  the  few  descend- 
ants of  those  who  had  brought  them  thither.  Above 
ground,  overgrown  with  wild  creepers  and  flowers, 
there  still  stood  some  such  monuments  of  magnificence 
as  we  find  it  hard  to  recall  by  mere  words,  not  yet  vol- 
untarily destroyed,  but  already  falling  to  pieces  under 
the  slow  destruction  of  grinding  time,  when  violence 
had  spared  them.  Robert  Guiscard  had  burned  the  city 
in  1084,  but  he  had  not  destroyed  everything.  The 
Emperors  of  the  East  had  plundered  Rome  long  before 
that,  carrying  off  works  of  art  without  end  to  adorn 
their  city  of  Constantinople.  Builders  had  burned  a 
thousand  marble  statues  to  lime  for  their  cement,  for 


96 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  statues  were  ready  to  hand  and  easily  broken  up  to 
be  thrown  into  the  kiln,  so  that  it  seemed  a waste  of 
time  and  tools  to  quarry  out  the  blocks  from  the  temples. 
The  Barbarians  of  Genseric  and  the  Jews  of  Trastevere 
had  seized  upon  such  of  the  four  thousand  bronze 
statues  as  the  Emperors  had  left,  and  had  melted  many 
of  them  down  for  metal,  often  hiding  them  in  strange 
places  while  waiting  for  an  opportunity  of  heating  the 
furnace.  And  some  have  been  found,  here  and  there, 
piled  up  in  little  vaults,  most  generally  near  the  Tiber, 
by  which  it  was  always  easy  to  ship  the  metal  away. 
Already  temples  had  been  turned  into  churches,  in  a 
travesty  only  saved  from  the  ridiculous  by  the  high 
solemnity  of  the  Christian  faith.  Other  temples  and 
buildings,  here  and  there,  had  been  partly  stripped  of 
columns  and  marble  facings  to  make  other  churches 
even  more  nondescript  than  the  first.  Much  of  the  old 
was  still  standing,  but  nothing  of  the  old  was  whole. 
The  Colosseum  had  not  yet  been  turned  into  a quarry. 
The  Septizonium  of  Septimius  Severus,  with  its  seven 
stories  of  columns  and  its  lofty  terrace,  nearly  half  as 
high  as  the  dome  of  Saint  Peter’s,  though  beginning 
to  crumble,  still  crowned  the  south  end  of  the  Palatine ; 
Minerva’s  temple  was  almost  entire,  and  its  huge  archi- 
trave had  not  been  taken  to  make  the  high  altar  of 
Saint  Peter’s ; and  the  triumphal  arch  of  Marcus  Aure- 
lius was  standing  in  what  was  perhaps  not  yet  called  the 
Corso  in  those  days,  but  the  Via  Lata  — ‘ Broad  Street.’ 


97 


The  Middle  Age 

The  things  that  had  not  yet  fallen,  nor  been  torn 
down,  were  the  more  sadly  grand  by  contrast  with  the 
chaos  around  them.  There  was  also  the  difference 
between  ruins  then,  and  ruins  now,  which  there  is 
between  a king  just  dead  in  his  greatness,  in  whose 
features  lingers  the  smile  of  a life  so  near  that  it 
seems  ready  to  come  back,  and  a dried  mummy  set 
up  in  a museum  and  carefully  dusted  for  critics  to 
study. 

In  even  stronger  and  rougher  contrast,  in  the  wreck 
of  all  that  had  been,  there  was  the  fierce  reality  of  the 
daily  fight  for  life  amid  the  seething  elements  of  the 
new  things  that  were  yet  to  be;  the  preparation  for 
another  time  of  domination  and  splendour;  the  deadly 
wrestling  of  men  who  meant  to  outlive  one  another  by 
sheer  strength  and  grim  power  of  killing;  the  dark 
ignorance,  darkest  just  before  the  waking  of  new 
thought,  and  art,  and  learning ; the  universal  cruelty  of 
all  living  things  to  each  other,  that  had  grown  out  of 
the  black  past ; and,  with  all  this,  the  undying  belief  in 
Rome’s  greatness,  in  Rome’s  future,  in  Rome’s  latent 
power  to  rule  the  world  again. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  new  story,  for  the  old 
one  was  ended,  the  race  of  men  who  had  lived  it  was 
gone,  and  their  works  were  following  them,  to  the  uni- 
versal dust.  Out  of  the  memories  they  left  and  the  de- 
parted glory  of  the  places  wherein  they  had  dwelt,  the 
magic  of  the  Middle  Age  was  to  weave  another  long 


VOL.  i 


H 


98 


Ave  Roma  Immortal  is 


romance,  less  grand  but  more  stirring,  less  glorious 
but  infinitely  more  human. 

Perhaps  it  is  not  altogether  beyond  the  bounds  of 
reason  to  say  that  Rome  was  masculine  from  Romulus 
to  the  dark  age,  and  that  with  the  first  dawn  of  the 
Renascence  she  began  to  be  feminine.  As  in  old 
days  the  Republic  and  the  Empire  fought  for  power 
and  conquest  and  got  both  by  force,  endurance  and 
hardness  of  character,  so,  in  her  second  life,  others 
fought  for  Rome,  and  courted  her,  and  coveted  her,  and 
sometimes  oppressed  her  and  treated  her  cruelly,  and 
sometimes  cherished  her  and  adorned  her,  and  gave  her 
all  they  had.  In  a way,  too,  the  elder  patriots  rever- 
enced their  city  as  a father,  and  those  of  after-times 
loved  her  as  a woman,  with  a tender  and  romantic  love. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  for  it  matters  little  how  we  explain 
what  we  feel.  And  assuredly  we  all  feel  that  what  we 
call  the  ‘charm,’  the  feminine  charm,  of  Rome,  pro- 
ceeds first  from  that  misty  time  between  two  great- 
nesses, when  her  humanity  was  driven  back  upon  itself, 
and  simple  passions,  good  and  evil,  suddenly  felt  and 
violently  expressed,  made  up  the  whole  life  of  a people 
that  had  ceased  to  rule  by  force,  and  had  not  yet 
reached  power  by  diplomacy. 

It  is  fair,  moreover,  to  dwell  a little  on  that  time,  that 
we  may  not  judge  too  hardly  the  men  who  came  after- 
wards. If  we  have  any  virtues  ourselves  of  which 
to  boast,  we  owe  them  to  a long  growth  of  civilization, 


The  Middle  Age 


99 


as  a child  owes  its  manners  to  its  mother ; the  men  of 
the  Renascence  had  behind  them  chaos,  the  ruin  of 
a slave-ridden,  Hun-harried,  worm-eaten  Empire,  in 
which  law  and  order  had  gone  down  together,  and  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  the  few  good  men  who  lived  in 
it  to  be  but  one  degree  better  than  hell  itself.  Much 
may  be  forgiven  them,  and  for  what  just  things  they 
did  they  should  be  honoured,  for  the  hardship  of 
having  done  right  at  all  against  such  odds. 


BRASS  OF  GORDIAN,  SHOWING  ROMAN  GAMES 


RUINS  OF  THE  JULIAN  BASILICA 


V 

Here  and  there,  in  out-of-the-way  places,  overlooked 
in  the  modern  rage  for  improvement,  little  marble  tab- 
lets are  set  into  the  walls  of  old  houses,  bearing  semi- 
heraldic  devices  such  as  a Crescent,  a Column,  a Griffin, 
a Stag,  a Wheel  and  the  like.  Italian  heraldry  has 
always  been  eccentric,  and  has  shown  a tendency  to 
display  all  sorts  of  strange  things,  such  as  comets, 
trees,  landscapes  and  buildings  in  the  escutcheon,  and 
it  would  naturally  occur  to  the  stranger  that  the  small 
marble  shields,  still  visible  here  and  there  at  the  corners 
of  old  streets,  must  be  the  coats  of  arms  of  Roman 
families  that  held  property  in  that  particular  neigh- 
bourhood. But  this  is  not  the  case.  They  are  the 
distinctive  devices  of  the  Fourteen  Rioni,  or  wards, 


The  Fourteen  Regions 


IOI 


into  which  the  city  was  divided,  with  occasional  modi- 
fications, from  the  time  of  Augustus  to  the  coming  of 
Victor  Emmanuel,  and  which  with  some  further  changes 
survive  to  the  present  day.  The  tablets  themselves 
were  put  up  by  Pope  Benedict  the  Fourteenth,  who 
reigned  from  1740  to  1758,  and  who  finally  brought 
them  up  to  the  ancient  number  of  fourteen ; but  from 
the  dark  ages  the  devices  themselves  were  borne  upon 
flags  on  all  public  occasions  by  the  people  of  the 
different  Regions.  For  ‘ Rione  ’ is  only  a corruption  of 
the  Latin  ‘ Regio,’  the  same  with  our  i Region,’  by 
which  English  word  it  will  be  convenient  to  speak  of 
these  divisions  that  played  so  large  a part  in  the  history 
of  the  city  during  many  successive  centuries. 

For  the  sake  of  clearness,  it  is  as  well  to  enumerate 
them  in  their  order  and  with  the  numbers  that  have 
always  belonged  to  each.  They  are : 


I.  Monti, 
II.  Trevi, 


VIII.  Sant’  Eustachio, 

IX.  Pigna, 


III.  Colonna, 

IV.  Campo  Marzo, 


XI.  Sant’  Angelo, 

XII.  Ripa, 

XIII.  Trastevere, 

XIV.  Borgo. 


X.  Campitelli, 


V.  Ponte, 

VI.  Parione, 

VII.  Regola, 


Five  of  these  names,  that  is  to  say,  Ponte,  Parione, 
Regola,  Pigna  and  Sant’  Angelo,  indicate  in  a gen- 
eral way  the  part  of  the  city  designated  by  each. 


102 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Ponte,  the  Bridge,  is  the  Region  about  the  Bridge  of 
Sant’  Angelo,  on  the  left  bank  at  the  sharp  bend  of  the 
river  seen  from  that  point ; but  the  original  bridge 
which  gave  the  name  was  the  Pons  Triumphalis,  of 
which  the  foundations  are  still  sometimes  visible  a little 
below  the  Ailian  bridge  leading  to  the  Mausoleum  of 
Hadrian.  Parione,  the  Sixth  ward,  is  the  next  division 
to  the  preceding  one,  towards  the  interior  of  the  city, 
on  both  sides  of  the  modern  Corso  Vittorio  Emmanuele, 
taking  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Massimo  family, 
the  Cancelleria,  famous  as  the  most  consistent  piece  of 
architecture  in  Rome,  and  the  Piazza  Navona.  Regola 
is  next,  towards  the  river,  comprising  the  Theatre  of 
Pompey  and  the  Palazzo  Farnese.  Pigna  takes  in  the 
Pantheon,  the  Collegio  Romano  and  the  Palazzo  di 
Venezia.  Sant’  Angelo  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
castle  or  the  bridge,  but  takes  its  name  from  the  little 
church  of  Sant’  Angelo  in  the  Fishmarket,  and  in- 
cludes the  old  Ghetto  with  some  neighbouring  streets. 
The  rest  explain  themselves  well  enough  to  anyone 
who  has  even  a very  slight  acquaintance  with  the  city. 

At  first  sight  these  more  or  less  arbitrary  divisions 
may  seem  of  little  importance.  It  was,  of  course,  neces- 
sary, even  in  early  times,  to  divide  the  population  and 
classify  it  for  political  and  municipal  purposes.  There 
is  no  modern  city  in  the  world  that  is  not  thus  managed 
by  wards  and  districts,  and  the  consideration  of  such 
management  and  of  its  means  might  appear  to  be  a 


/ 


The  Fourteen  Regions 


103 


very  flat  and  unprofitable  study,  tiresome  alike  to  the 
reader  and  to  the  writer.  And  so  it  would  be,  if  it  were 
not  true  that  the  Fourteen  Regions  of  Rome  were  four- 
teen elements  of  romance,  each  playing  its  part  in  due 
season,  while  all  were  frequently  the  stage  at  once,  under 
the  collective  name  of  the  people,  in  their  ever-latent 
opposition  and  in  their  occasional  violent  outbreaks 
against  the  nobles  and  the  popes,  who  alternately  op- 
pressed and  spoiled  them  for  private  and  public  ends. 
In  other  words,  the  Regions  with  their  elected  captains 
under  one  chief  captain  were  the  survival  of  the  Roman 
People,  for  ever  at  odds  with  the  Roman  Senate.  In 
times  when  there  was  no  government,  in  any  reasonable 
sense  of  the  word,  the  people  tried  to  govern  them- 
selves, or  at  least  to  protect  themselves  as  best  they 
could  by  a rough  system  which  was  all  that  remained 
of  the  elaborate  municipality  of  the  Empire.  Without 
the  Regions  the  struggles  of  the  Barons  would  probably 
have  destroyed  Rome  altogether ; nine  out  of  the 
twenty-four  Popes  who  reigned  in  the  tenth  century 
would  not  have  been  murdered  and  otherwise  done  to 
death ; Peter  the  Prefect  could  not  have  dragged  Pope 
John  the  Thirteenth  a prisoner  through  the  streets; 
Stefaneschi  could  never  have  terrorized  the  Barons, 
and  half  destroyed  their  castles  in  a week ; Rienzi 
could  not  have  made  himself  dictator;  Ludovico  Mig- 
liorati  could  not  have  murdered  the  eleven  captains  of 
Regions  in  his  house  and  thrown  their  bodies  to  the 


104  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

people  from  the  windows,  for  which  Giovanni  Colonna 
drove  out  the  Pope  and  the  cardinals,  and  sacked  the 
Vatican  ; in  a word,  the  strangest,  wildest,  bloodiest 
scenes  of  mediaeval  Rome  could  not  have  found  a place 
in  history.  It  is  no  wonder  that  to  men  born  and  bred 
in  the  city  the  Regions  seem  even  now  to  be  an  integral 
factor  in  its  existence. 

There  were  two  other  elements  of  power,  namely,  the 
Pope  and  the  Barons.  The  three  are  almost  perpetually 
at  war,  two  on  a side,  against  the  third.  Philippe  de 
Commines,  ambassador  of  Lewis  the  Eleventh  in  Rome, 
said  that  without  the  Orsini  and  the  Colonna,  the  States 
of  the  Church  would  be  the  happiest  country  in  the 
world.  He  forgot  the  People,  and  was  doubtless  too 
politic  to  speak  of  the  Popes  to  his  extremely  devout 
sovereign.  Take  away  the  three  elements  of  discord, 
and  there  would  certainly  have  been  peace  in  Rome,  for 
there  would  have  been  no  one  to  disturb  the  bats  and 
the  owls,  when  everybody  was  gone. 

The  excellent  advice  of  Ampere,  already  quoted,  is 
by  no  means  easy  to  follow,  since  there  are  not  many 
who  have  the  time  and  the  inclination  to  acquire  a 
‘ superficial  knowledge  ’ of  Rome  by  a ten  years’  visit. 
If,  therefore,  we  merely  presuppose  an  average  know- 
ledge of  history  and  a guide-book  acquaintance  with  the 
chief  points  in  the  city,  the  simplest  and  most  direct 
way  of  learning  more  about  it  is  to  take  the  Regions  in 
their  ancient  order,  as  the  learned  Baracconi  has  done 


The  Fourteen  Regions  105 

in  his  invaluable  little  work,  and  to  try  as  far  as  pos- 
sible to  make  past  deeds  live  again  where  they  were 
done,  with  such  description  of  the  places  themselves  as 
may  serve  the  main  purpose  best.  To  follow  any  other 
plan  would  be  either  to  attempt  a new  history  of  the 
city  of  Rome,  or  to  piece  together  a new  archaeological 
manual.  In  either  case,  even  supposing  that  one  could 
be  successful  where  so  much  has  already  been  done  by 
the  most  learned,  the  end  aimed  at  would  be  defeated, 
for  romance  would  be  stiffened  to  a record,  and  beauty 
would  be  dissected  to  an  anatomical  preparation. 


BRASS  OF  TITUS,  SHOWING  THE  COLOSSEUM 


REGION  I MONTI 

‘ Monti  ’ means  ‘ The  Hills,’  and  the  device  of  the 
Region  represents  three,  figuring  those  enclosed  within 
the  boundaries  of  this  district ; namely,  the  Quirinal,  the 
Esquiline  and  the  Ccelian.  The  line  encircling  them 
includes  the  most  hilly  part  of  the  mediaeval  city ; be- 
ginning at  the  Porta  Salaria,  it  runs  through  the  new 
quarter,  formerly  Villa  Ludovisi,  to  the  Piazza  Barberini, 
thence  by  the  Tritone  to  the  Corso,  by  the  Via  Mar- 
forio,  skirting  the  eastern  side  of  the  Capitoline  Hill  and 
the  eastern  side  of  the  Roman  Forum  to  the  Colosseum, 
which  it  does  not  include;  on  almost  to  the  Lateran, 
back  again,  so  as  to  include  the  Basilica,  by  San  Ste- 
fano  Rotondo,  and  out  by  the  Navicella  to  the  now 
closed  Porta  Metronia.  The  remainder  of  the  circuit  is 
completed  by  the  Aurelian  wall,  which  is  the  present 


106 


Monti 


107 


wall  of  the  city,  though  the  modern  Electoral  Wards 
extend  in  some  places  beyond  it.  The  modern  gates 
included  in  this  portion  are  the  Porta  Salaria,  the  Porta 
Pia,  the  new  gate  at  the  end  of  the  Via  Montebello, 
the  next,  an  unnamed  opening  through  which  passes 
the  Viale  Castro  Pretorio,  then  the  Porta  Tiburtina,  the 
Porta  San  Lorenzo,  the  exit  of  the  railway,  Porta 
Maggiore,  and  lastly  the  Porta  San  Giovanni. 

The  Region  of  the  Hills  takes  in  by  far  the  largest 
area  of  the  fourteen  districts,  but  also  that  portion 
which  in  later  times  has  been  the  least  thickly  popu- 
lated, the  wildest  districts  of  mediaeval  and  recent 
Rome,  great  open  spaces  now  partially  covered  by  new 
though  hardly  inhabited  buildings,  but  which  were  very 
lately  either  fallow  land  or  ploughed  fields,  or  cultivated 
vineyards,  out  of  which  huge  masses  of  ruins  rose  here 
and  there  in  brown  outline  against  the  distant  moun- 
tains, in  the  midst  of  which  towered  the  enormous  basil- 
icas of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  and  Saint  John  Lateran, 
the  half-utilized,  half-consecrated  remains  of  the  Baths 
of  Diocletian,  the  Baths  of  Titus,  and  over  against  the 
latter,  just  beyond  the  southwestern  boundary,  the 
gloomy  Colosseum,  and  on  the  west  the  tall  square 
tower  of  the  Capitol  with  its  deep-toned  bell,  the  ‘ Pata- 
rina,’  which  at  last  was  sounded  only  when  the  Pope 
was  dead,  and  when  Carnival  was  over  on  Shrove  Tues- 
day night. 

It  must  first  be  remembered  that  each  Region  had 


io8 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


a small  independent  existence,  with  night  watchmen  of 
its  own,  who  dared  not  step  beyond  the  limits  of  their 
beat ; defined  by  parishes,  there  were  separate  charities 
for  each  Region,  separate  funds  for  giving  dowries  to 
poor  girls,  separate  ‘ Confraternite  ’ or  pious  societies  to 
which  laymen  belonged,  and,  in  a small  way,  a sort  of 
distinct  nationality.  There  was  rivalry  between  each 
Region  and  its  neighbours,  and  when  the  one  en- 
croached upon  the  other  there  was  strife  and  bloodshed 
in  the  streets.  In  the  public  races,  of  which  the  last 
survived  in  the  running  of  riderless  horses  through  the 
Corso  in  Carnival,  each  Region  had  its  colours,  its  right 
of  place,  and  its  separate  triumph  if  it  won  in  the  con- 
test. There  was  all  that  intricate  opposition  of  small 
parties  which  arose  in  every  mediaeval  city,  when 
children  followed  their  fathers’  trades  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  lived  in  their  fathers’  houses  from 
one  century  to  another ; and  there  was  all  the  individ- 
uality and  the  local  tradition  which  never  really  hin- 
dered civilization,  but  were  always  an  insurmountable 
barrier  against  progress. 

Some  one  has  called  democracy  Rome’s  ‘ Original 
Sin.’  It  would  be  more  just  and  true  to  say  that  most 
of  Rome’s  misfortunes,  and  Italy’s  too,  have  been  the 
result  of  the  instinct  to  oppose  all  that  is,  whether 
good  or  bad,  as  soon  as  it  has  existed  for  a while  ; in 
short,  the  original  sin  of  Italians  is  an  original  detesta- 
tion of  that  unity  of  which  the  empty  name  has  been 


/ 


Monti 


109 


a fetish  for  ages.  Rome,  thrown  back  upon  herself  in 
the  dark  times,  when  she  was  shorn  of  her  possessions, 
was  a true  picture  of  what  Italy  was  before  Rome’s 
iron  hand  had  bound  the  Italian  peoples  together  by 
force,  of  what  she  became  again  as  soon  as  that  force 
was  relaxed,  of  what  she  has  grown  to  be  once  more, 
now  that  the  delight  of  revolution  has  disappeared  in 
the  dismal  swamp  of  financial  disappointment,  of  what 
she  will  be  to  all  time,  because,  from  all  time,  she  has 
been  populated  by  races  of  different  descent,  who 
hated  each  other  as  only  neighbours  can. 

The  redeeming  feature  of  a factional  life  has  some- 
times been  found  in  a readiness  to  unite  against  foreign 
oppression  ; it  has  often  shown  itself  in  an  equal  will- 
ingness to  submit  to  one  foreign  ruler  in  order  to  get 
rid  of  another.  Circumstances  have  made  the  result 
good  or  bad.  In  the  year  799,  the  Romans  attacked 
and  wounded  Pope  Leo  the  Third  in  a solemn  proces- 
sion, almost  killed  him  and  drove  him  to  flight,  because 
he  had  sent  the  keys  of  the  city  to  Charles  the  Great,  in 
self-protection  against  the  splendid,  beautiful,  gifted, 
black-hearted  Irene,  Empress  of  the  East,  who  had  put 
out  her  own  son’s  eyes  and  taken  the  throne  by  force. 
Two  years  later  the  people  of  Rome  shouted  “ Life  and 
Victory  to  Charles  the  Emperor,”  when  the  same  Pope 
Leo,  his  scars  still  fresh,  crowned  Charlemagne  in  Saint 
Peter’s.  One  remembers,  for  that  matter,  that  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte,  crowned  in  French  Paris  by  another 


I IO 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Pope,  girt  on  the  very  sword  of  that  same  Frankish 
Charles,  whose  bones  the  French  had  scattered  to  the 
elements  at  Aix.  Savonarola,  of  more  than  doubtful 
patriotism,  to  whom  Saint  Philip  Neri  prayed,  but 
whom  the  English  historian,  Roscoe,  flatly  calls  a 
traitor,  would  have  taken  Florence  from  the  Italian 
Medici  and  given  it  to  the  French  king.  Dante  was 
for  German  Emperors  against  Italian  Popes.  Modern 
Italy  has  driven  out  Bourbons  and  Austrians  and  given 
the  crown  of  her  Unity  to  a house  of  Kings,  brave  and 
honourable,  but  in  whose  veins  there  is  no  drop  of 
Italian  blood,  any  more  than  their  old  Dukedom  of 
Savoy  was  ever  Italian  in  any  sense.  The  glory  of 
history  is  rarely  the  glory  of  any  ideal;  it  is  more 
often  the  glory  of  success. 

The  Roman  Republic  was  the  result  of  internal  oppo- 
sition, and  the  instinct  to  oppose  power,  often  rightly, 
sometimes  wrongly,  will  be  the  last  to  survive  in  the 
Latin  race.  In  the  Middle  Age,  when  Rome  had  shrunk 
from  the  boundaries  of  civilization  to  the  narrow  limits 
of  the  Aurelian  walls,  it  produced  the  hatred  between 
the  Barons  and  the  people,  and  within  the  people  them- 
selves, the  less  harmful  rivalry  of  the  Regions  and  their 
Captains. 

These  Captains  held  office  for  three  months  only. 
At  the  expiration  of  the  term,  they  and  the  people  of 
their  Region  proceeded  in  procession,  all  bearing  olive 
branches,  to  the  temple  of  Venus  and  Rome,  of  which 


/ 


Monti 


1 1 1 


a part  was  early  converted  into  the  Church  of  Santa 
Maria  Nuova,  now  known  as  Santa  Francesca  Romana, 


SANTA  FRANCESCA  ROMANA 

within  the  limits  of  ‘ Monti.’  Down  from  the  hills  on 
the  one  side  the  crowd  came  ; up  from  the  regions  of 
the  Tiber,  round  the  Capitol  from  Colonna,  and  Trevi, 


I 12 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


and  Campo  Marzo,  as  ages  before  them  the  people  had 
thronged  to  the  Comitium,  only  a few  hundred  yards 
away.  There,  before  the  church  in  the  ruins,  each 
Region  dropped  the  names  of  its  own  two  candidates 
into  the  ballot  box,  and  chance  decided  which  of  the 
two  should  be  Captain  next.  In  procession,  then,  all 
round  the  Capitol,  they  went  to  Aracoeli,  and  the  single 
Senator,  the  lone  shadow  of  the  Conscript  Fathers, 
ratified  each  choice.  Lastly,  among  themselves,  they 
used  to  choose  the  Prior,  or  Chief  Captain,  until  it  be- 
came the  custom  that  the  captain  of  the  First  Region, 
Monti,  should  of  right  be  head  of  all  the  rest,  and  in 
reality  one  of  the  principal  powers  in  the  city. 

And  the  principal  church  of  Monti  also  held  preemi- 
nence over  others.  The  Basilica  of  Saint  John  Lat- 
eran  was  entitled  ‘ Mother  and  Head  of  all  Churches  of 
the  City  and  of  the  World  * ; and  it  took  its  distinctive 
name  from  a rich  Roman  family,  whose  splendid  house 
stood  on  the  same  spot  as  far  back  as  the  early  days  of 
the  Empire.  Even  Juvenal  speaks  of  it. 

Overthrown  by  earthquake,  erected  again  at  once, 
twice  burned  and  immediately  rebuilt,  five  times  the 
seat  of  Councils  of  the  Church,  enlarged  even  in  our 
day  at  enormous  cost,  it  seems  destined  to  stand  on  the 
same  spot  for  ages,  and  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of 
the  Laterans  to  all  time,  playing  monument  to  an  obscure 
family  of  rich  citizens,  whose  name  should  have  been 
almost  lost,  but  can  never  be  forgotten  now. 


/ 


Monti 


1 13 

Constantine,  sentimental  before  he  was  great,  and 
great  before  he  was  a Christian,  gave  the  house  of  the 
Roman  gentleman  to  Pope  Sylvester.  He  bought  it, 
or  it  fell  to  the  crown  at  the  extinction  of  the  family, 
for  he  was  not  the  man  to  confiscate  property  for  a 
whim  ; and  within  the  palace  he  made  a church,  which 
was  called  by  more  than  one  name,  till  after  nearly  six 
hundred  years  it  was  finally  dedicated  to  Saint  John 
the  Baptist ; until  then  it  had  been  generally  called  the 
church  ‘ in  the  Lateran  house,’  and  to  this  day  it  is 
San  Giovanni  in  Laterano.  Close  by  it,  in  the  palace 
of  the  Annii,  Marcus  Aurelius,  last  of  the  so-called 
Antonines,  and  last  of  the  great  emperors,  was  born 
and  educated ; and  in  his  honour  was  made  the  famous 
statue  of  him  on  horseback,  which  now  stands  in  the 
square  of  the  Capitol.  The  learned  say  that  it  was 
set  up  before  the  house  where  he  was  born,  and  so 
found  itself  also  before  the  Lateran  in  later  times,  with 
the  older  Wolf,  at  the  place  of  public  justice  and 
execution. 

In  the  wild  days  of  the  tenth  century,  when  the  world 
was  boiling  with  faction,  and  trembling  at  the  prospect 
of  the  Last  Judgment,  clearly  predicted  to  overtake 
mankind  in  the  thousandth  year  of  the  Christian  era, 
the  whole  Roman  people,  without  sanction  of  the 
Emperor  and  without  precedent,  chose  John  the 
Thirteenth  to  be  their  Pope.  The  Regions  with  their 
Captains  had  their  way,  and  the  new  Pontiff  was  en- 


VOL. 


1 


1 14  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

throned  by  their  acclamation.  Then  came  their  dis- 
appointment, then  their  anger.  Pope  John,  strong, 
high-handed,  a man  of  order  in  days  of  chaos,  ruled 
from  the  Lateran  for  one  short  year,  with  such  wisdom 
as  he  possessed,  such  law  as  he  chanced  to  have  learnt, 
and  all  the  strength  he  had.  Neither  Barons  nor  peo- 
ple wanted  justice,  much  less  learning.  The  Latin 
chronicle  is  brief : ‘ At  that  time,  Count  Roffredo  and 
Peter  the  Prefect,’  — he  was  the  Prior  of  the  Regions’ 
Captains,  — ‘ with  certain  other  Romans,  seized  Pope 
John,  and  first  threw  him  into  the  Castle  of  Sant’ 
Angelo,  but  at  last  drove  him  into  exile  in  Campania 
for  more  than  ten  months.  But  when  the  Count  had 
been  murdered  by  one  of  the  Crescenzi,’  — in  whose 
house  Rienzi  afterwards  lived,  — ‘ the  Pope  was  re- 
leased and  returned  to  his  See.’ 

Back  came  Otto  the  Great,  Saxon  Emperor,  at 
Christmas  time,  as  he  came  more  than  once,  to  put 
down  revolution  with  a strong  hand  and  avenge  the 
wrongs  of  Pope  John  by  executing  all  but  one  of  the 
Captains  of  the  Regions.  Twelve  of  them  he  hanged. 
Peter  the  Prefect,  or  Prior,  was  bound  naked  upon 
an  ass  with  an  earthen  jar  over  his  head,  flogged 
through  the  city,  and  cruelly  put  to  death ; and  at 
last  his  torn  body  was  hung  by  the  hair  to  the  head 
of  the  bronze  horse  whereon  the  stately  figure  of 
Marcus  Aurelius  sat  in  triumph  before  the  door  of 
the  Pope’s  house,  as  it  sits  today  on  the  Capitol 


Monti 


U5 

before  the  Palace  of  the  Senator.  And  Otto  caused 
the  body  of  murdered  Roffredo  to  be  dragged  from 
its  grave  and  quartered  by  the  hangman  and  scattered 
abroad,  a warning  to  the  Regions  and  their  leaders. 
They  left  Pope  John  in  peace  after  that,  and  he  lived 
five  years  and  held  a council  in  the  Lateran,  and 
died  in  his  bed.  Possibly  after  his  rough  experience, 
his  rule  was  more  gentle,  and  when  he  was  dead  he 
was  spoken  of  as  ‘that  most  worthy  Pontiff.’  Who 
Count  Roffredo  was  no  one  can  tell  surely,  but  his 
name  belongs  to  the  great  house  of  Caetani. 

It  is  hard  to  see  past  terror  in  present  peace;  it 
is  not  easy  to  fancy  the  rough  rabble  of  Rome  in 
those  days,  strangely  clad,  more  strangely  armed,  far 
out  in  the  waste  fields  about  the  Lateran,  surging 
up  like  demons  in  the  lurid  torchlight  before  the 
house  of  the  Pope,  pressing  upon  the  mailed  Count’s 
stout  horse,  and  thronging  upon  the  heels  of  the 
Captains  and  the  Prefect,  pounding  down  the  heavy 
doors  with  stones,  and  with  deep  shouts  for  every 
heavy  blow,  while  white-robed  John  and  his  fright- 
ened priests  cower  together  within,  expecting  death. 
Down  goes  the  oak  with  a crash  like  artillery,  that 
booms  along  the  empty  corridors;  a moment’s  pause, 
and  silence,  and  then  the  rush,  headed  by  the  Knight 
and  the  leaders  who  mean  no  murder,  but  mean  to 
have  their  way,  once  and  for  ever,  and  buffet  back  their 
furious  followers  when  they  have  reached  the  Pope’s 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


1 1 6 

room,  lest  he  should  be  torn  in  pieces.  Then,  the 
subsidence  of  the  din,  and  the  old  man  and  his  priests 
bound  and  dragged  out  and  forced  to  go  on  foot  by 
all  the  long  dark  way  through  the  city  to  the  black 
dungeons  of  Sant’  Angelo  beyond  the  rushing  river. 


SAN  GIOVANNI  IN  LATERANO 

It  seems  far  away.  Yet  we  who  have  seen  the 
Roman  people  rise,  overlaid  with  burdens  and  mad- 
dened by  the  news  of  a horrible  defeat,  can  guess 
at  what  it  must  have  been.  Those  who  saw  the  sea 
of  murderous  pale  faces,  and  heard  the  deep  cry, 
‘ Death  to  Crispi,’  go  howling  and  echoing  through 
the  city  can  guess  what  that  must  have  been  a thou- 
sand years  ago,  and  many  another  night  since  then, 


Monti 


1 17 

when  the  Romans  were  roused  and  there  was  a smell 
of  blood  in  the  air. 

But  today  there  is  peace  in  the  great  Mother  of 
Churches,  with  an  atmosphere  of  solemn  rest  that  one 
may  not  breathe  in  Saint  Peter’s  nor  perhaps  any- 
where else  in  Rome  within  consecrated  walls.  There 
is  mystery  in  the  enormous  pillars  that  answer  back 
the  softest  whispered  word  from  niche  to  niche  across 
the  silent  aisle ; there  is  simplicity  and  dignity  of 
peace  in  the  lofty  nave,  far  down  and  out  of  jar- 
ring distance  from  the  over-gorgeous  splendour  of 
the  modern  transept.  In  Holy  Week,  towards  even- 
ing at  the  Tenebrae,  the  divine  tenor  voice  of  Padre 
Giovanni,  monk  and  singer,  soft  as  a summer  night, 
clear  as  a silver  bell,  touching  as  sadness  itself,  used 
to  float  through  the  dim  air  with  a ring  of  Heaven 
in  it,  full  of  that  strange  fatefulness  that  followed  his 
short  life,  till  he  died,  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  foully 
poisoned  by  a layman  singer  in  envy  of  a gift  not 
matched  in  the  memory  of  man. 

Sometimes,  if  one  wanders  upward  towards  the  Monti 
when  the  moon  is  high,  a far-off  voice  rings  through 
the  quiet  air  — one  of  those  voices  which  hardly  ever 
find  their  way  to  the  theatre  nowadays,  and  which, 
perhaps,  would  not  satisfy  the  nervous  taste  of  our 
Wagnerian  times.  Perhaps  it  sounds  better  in  the 
moonlight,  in  those  lonely,  echoing  streets,  than  it 
would  on  the  stage.  At  all  events,  it  is  beautiful  as 


1 1 8 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


one  hears  it,  clear,  strong,  natural,  ringing.  It  be- 
longs to  the  place  and  hour,  as  the  humming  of 
honey  bees  to  a field  of  flowers  at  noon,  or  the  deso- 
late moaning  of  the  tide  to  a lonely  ocean  coast  at 
night.  It  is  not  an  exaggeration,  nor  a mere  bit  of 
ill  nature,  to  say  that  there  are  thousands  of  fastidi- 
ously cultivated  people  today  who  would  think  it  all 
theatrical  in  the  extreme,  and  would  be  inclined  to  de- 
spise their  own  taste  if  they  felt  a secret  pleasure  in  the 
scene  and  the  song.  But  in  Rome  even  such  as  they 
might  condescend  to  the  romantic  for  an  hour,  because 
in  Rome  such  deeds  have  been  dared,  such  loves  have 
been  loved,  such  deaths  have  been  died,  that  any  ro- 
mance, no  matter  how  wild,  has  larger  probability  in 
the  light  of  what  has  actually  been  the  lot  of  real  men 
and  women.  So  going  alone  through  the  winding 
moonlit  ways  about  Tor  de’  Conti,  Santa  Maria  dei 
Monti  and  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  a man  need  take  no 
account  of  modern  fashions  in  sensation ; and  if  he  will 
but  let  himself  be  charmed,  the  enchantment  will  take 
hold  of  him  and  lead  him  on  through  a city  of  dreams 
and  visions,  and  memories  strange  and  great,  without 
end.  Ever  since  Rome  began  there  must  have  been  just 
such  silvery  nights;  just  such  a voice  rang  through  the 
same  air  ages  ago ; just  as  now  the  velvet  shadows  fell 
pall-like  and  unrolled  themselves  along  the  grey  pave- 
ment under  the  lofty  columns  of  Mars  the  Avenger 
and  beneath  the  wall  of  the  Forum  of  Augustus. 


/ 


Monti 


1 19 


Perhaps  it  is  true  that  the  impressions  which  Rome 
makes  upon  a thoughtful  man  vary  more  according  to 
the  wind  and  the  time  of 
day  than  those  he  feels 
in  other  cities.  Perhaps, 
too,  there  is  no  capital 
in  all  the  world  which 
has  such  contrasts  to 
show  within  a mile  of 
each  other  — one  might 
almost  say  within  a 
dozen  steps.  One  of  the 
most  crowded  thorough- 
fares of  Rome,  for  in- 
stance, is  the  Via  del 
Tritone,  which  is  the 
only  passage  through 
the  valley  between 
the  Pincian  and  the 
Quirinal  hills,  from 
the  region  of  Piazza 
Colonna  towards  the 
railway  station  and 
the  new  quarter. 

During  the  busy 
hours  of  the  day  a 
carriage  can  rarely 
move  through  its 


PIAZZA  COLONNA 


120 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


narrower  portions  any  faster  than  at  a foot  pace,  and 
the  insufficient  pavements  are  thronged  with  pedes- 
trians. In  a measure,  the  Tritone  in  Rome  corresponds 
to  Galata  bridge  in  Constantinople.  In  the  course  of 
the  week  most  of  the  population  of  the  city  must  have 
passed  at  least  once  through  the  crowded  little  street, 
which  somehow  in  the  rain  of  millions  that  lasted  for 
two  years,  did  not  manage  to  attract  to  itself  even  the 
small  sum  which  would  have  sufficed  to  widen  it  by  a 
few  yards.  It  is  as  though  the  contents  of  Rome  were 
daily  drawn  through  a keyhole.  In  the  Tritone  are  to 
be  seen  magnificent  equipages,  jammed  in  the  line 
between  milk  carts,  omnibuses  and  dustmen’s  barrows, 
preceded  by  butcher’s  vans  and  followed  by  miserable 
cabs,  smart  dogcarts  and  high-wheeled  country  vehicles 
driven  by  rough,  booted  men  wearing  green-lined  cloaks 
and  looking  like  stage  bandits ; even  saddle  horses  are 
led  sometimes  that  way  to  save  time ; and  on  each  side 
flow  two  streams  of  human  beings  of  every  type  to  be 
found  between  Porta  Angelica  and  Porta  San  Giovanni. 
A prince  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  pushes  past  a 
troop  of  dirty  school  children,  and  is  almost  driven  into 
an  open  barrel  of  salt  codfish,  in  the  door  of  a poor 
shop,  by  a black-faced  charcoal  man  carrying  a sack  on 
his  head  more  than  half  as  high  as  himself.  A party 
of  jolly  young  German  tourists  in  loose  clothes,  with  red 
books  in  their  hands,  and  their  field-glasses  hanging  by 
straps  across  their  shoulders,  try  to  rid  themselves  of 


Monti 


I 2 I 


the  flower-girls  dressed  in  sham  Sabine  costumes,  and 
utter  exclamations  of  astonishment  and  admiration 
when  they  themselves  are  almost  run  down  by  a couple 
of  the  giant  Royal  Grenadiers,  each  six  feet  five  or 
thereabouts,  besides  nine  inches,  or  so,  of  crested  hel- 
met aloft,  gorgeous,  gigantic  and  spotless.  Clerks  by 
the  dozen  and  liveried  messengers  of  the  ministries 
struggle  in  the  press ; ladies  gather  their  skirts  closely, 
and  try  to  pick  a dainty  way  where,  indeed,  there  is 
nothing  ‘dam’  (a  word  which  Doctor  Johnson  con- 
fesses that  he  could  not  find  in  any  dictionary,  but 
which  he  thinks  might  be  very  useful);  servant  girls, 
smart  children  with  nurses  and  hoops  going  up  to  the 
Pincio,  black-browed  washerwomen  with  big  baskets  of 
clothes  on  their  heads,  stumpy  little  infantry  soldiers 
in  grey  uniforms,  priests,  friars,  venders  of  boot-laces 
and  thread,  vegetable  sellers  pushing  hand-carts  of 
green  things  in  and  out  among  the  horses  and  vehicles 
with  amazing  dexterity,  and  yelling  their  cries  in  super- 
humanly high  voices  — there  is  no  end  to  the  multitude. 
If  the  day  is  showery,  it  is  a sight  to  see  the  confusion 
in  the  Tritone  when  umbrellas  of  every  age,  material 
and  colour  are  all  opened  at  once,  while  the  people  who 
have  none  crowd  into  the  codfish  shop  and  the  liquor 
seller’s  and  the  tobacconist’s,  with  traditional  ‘con  per- 
messo  ’ of  excuse  for  entering  when  they  do  not  mean 
to  buy  anything ; for  the  Romans  are  mostly  civil  peo- 
ple and  fairly  good-natured.  But  rain  or  shine,  at  the 


122 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


busy  hours,  the  place  is  always  crowded  to  overflowing 
with  every  description  of  vehicle  and  every  type  of 
humanity. 

Out  of  Babel  — a horizontal  Babel  — you  may  turn 
into  the  little  church,  dedicated  to  the  ‘ Holy  Guardian 
Angel.’  It  stands  on  the  south  side  of  the  Tritone,  in 
that  part  which  is  broader,  and  which  a little  while  ago 
was  still  called  the  Via  dell’  Angelo  Custode  — Guard- 
ian Angel  Street.  It  is  an  altogether  insignificant  little 
church,  and  strangers  scarcely  ever  visit  it.  But  going 
down  the  Tritone,  when  your  ears  are  splitting,  and 
your  eyes  are  confused  with  the  kaleidoscopic  figures  of 
the  scurrying  crowd,  you  may  lift  the  heavy  leathern 
curtain,  and  leave  the  hurly-burly  outside,  and  find 
yourself  all  alone  in  the  quiet  presence  of  death,  the 
end  of  all  hurly-burly  and  confusion.  It  is  quite  pos- 
sible that  under  the  high,  still  light  in  the  round  church, 
with  its  four  niche-like  chapels,  you  may  see,  draped  in 
black,  that  thing  which  no  one  ever  mistakes  for  any- 
thing else ; and  round  about  the  coffin  a dozen  tall  wax 
candles  may  be  burning  with  a steady  yellow  flame. 
Possibly,  at  the  sound  of  the  leathern  curtain  slapping 
the  stone  door-posts,  as  it  falls  behind  you,  a sad-look- 
ing  sacristan  may  shuffle  out  of  a dark  corner  to  see 
who  has  come  in ; possibly  not.  He  may  be  asleep,  or 
he  may  be  busy  folding  vestments  in  the  sacristy.  The 
dead  need  little  protection  from  the  living,  nor  does  a 
sacristan  readily  put  himself  out  for  nothing.  You  may 


/ 


Monti 


123 


stand  there  undisturbed  as  long  as  you  please,  and  see 
what  all  the  world’s  noise  comes  to  in  the  end.  Or  it 
may  be,  if  the  departed  person  belonged  to  a pious  con- 
fraternity, that  you  chance  upon  the  brothers  of  the 
society  — clad  in  dark  hoods  with  only  holes  for  their 
eyes,  and  no  man  recognized  by  his  neighbour  — chant- 
ing penitential  psalms  and  hymns  for  the  one  whom 
they  all  know  because  he  is  dead,  and  they  are  living. 

Such  contrasts  are  not  lacking  in  Rome.  There  are 
plenty  of  them  everywhere  in  the  world,  perhaps,  but 
they  are  more  striking  here,  in  proportion  as  the  out- 
ward forms  of  religious  practice  are  more  ancient, 
unchanging  and  impressive.  For  there  is  nothing  very 
impressive  or  unchanging  about  the  daily  outside  world, 
especially  in  Rome. 

Rome,  the  worldly,  is  the  capital  of  one  of  the 
smaller  kingdoms  of  the  world,  which  those  who  rule 
it  are  anxious  to  force  into  the  position  of  a great 
power.  One  need  not  criticise  their  action  too  hardly ; 
their  motives  can  hardly  be  anything  but  patriotic,  con- 
sidering the  fearful  sacrifices  they  impose  upon  their 
country.  But  they  are  not  the  men  who  brought  about 
Italian  unity.  They  are  the  successors  of  those  men  ; 
they  are  not  satisfied  with  that  unification,  and  they 
have  dreamed  a dream  of  ambition,  beside  which,  con- 
sidering the  means  at  their  disposal,  the  projects  of 
Alexander,  Caesar  and  Napoleon  sink  into  comparative 
insignificance.  At  all  events,  the  worldly,  modern,  out- 


124 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


ward  Italian  Rome  is  very  far  behind  the  great  Euro- 
pean capitals  in  development,  not  to  say  wealth  and 
magnificence.  ‘ Lay  ’ Rome,  if  one  may  use  the  ex- 
pression, is  not  in  the  least  a remarkable  city.  ‘ Eccle- 
siastic ’ Rome  is  the  stronghold  of  a most  tremendous 
fact,  from  whatever  point  of  view  Christianity  may  be 
considered.  If  one  could,  in  imagination,  detach  the 
head  of  the  Catholic  Church  from  the  Church,  one 
would  be  obliged  to  admit  that  no  single  living  man 
possesses  the  far-reaching  and  lasting  power  which  in 
each  succeeding  papal  reign  belongs  to  the  Pope. 
Behind  the  Pope  stands  the  fact  which  confers,  main- 
tains and  extends  that  power  from  century  to  century ; 
a power  which  is  one  of  the  hugest  elements  of  the 
world’s  moral  activity,  both  in  its  own  direct  action  and 
in  the  counteraction  and  antagonism  which  it  calls  forth 
continually. 

It  is  the  all-pervading  presence  of  this  greatest  fact 
in  Christendom  which  has  carried  on  Rome’s  impor- 
tance from  the  days  of  the  Caesars,  across  the  chasm 
of  the  dark  ages,  to  the  days  of  the  modern  popes; 
and  its  really  enormous  importance  continually  throws 
forward  into  cruel  relief  the  puerilities  and  inanities 
of  the  daily  outward  world.  It  is  the  consciousness 
of  that  importance  which  makes  old  Roman  society 
what  it  is,  with  its  virtues,  its  vices,  its  prejudices  and 
its  strange,  old-fashioned,  close-fisted  kindliness ; which 
makes  the  contrast  between  the  Saturnalia  of  Shrove 


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Monti 


125 


Tuesday  night  and  the  cross  signed  with  ashes  upon 
the  forehead  on  Ash  Wednesday  morning,  between  the 
careless  laughter  of  the  Roman  beauty  in  Carnival, 
and  the  tragic  earnestness  of  the  same  lovely  face 
when  the  great  lady  kneels  in  Lent,  before  the  con- 
fessional, to  receive  upon  her  bent  head  the  light  touch 
of  the  penitentiary’s  wand,  taking  her  turn,  perhaps, 
with  a score  of  women  of  the  people.  It  is  the  know- 
ledge of  an  always  present  power,  active  throughout 
the  whole  world,  which  throws  deep,  straight  shadows, 
as  it  were,  through  the  Roman  character,  just  as  in 
certain  ancient  families  there  is  a secret  that  makes 
grave  the  lives  of  those  who  know  it. 

The  Roman  Forum  and  the  land  between  it  and  the 
Colosseum,  though  strictly  within  the  limits  of  Monti, 
were  in  reality  a neutral  ground,  the  chosen  place  for 
all  struggles  of  rivalry  between  the  Regions.  The  final 
destruction  of  its  monuments  dates  from  the  sacking  of 
Rome  by  Robert  Guiscard  with  his  Normans  and  Sara- 
cens in  the  year  one  thousand  and  eighty-four,  when  the 
great  Duke  of  Apulia  came  in  arms  to  succour  Hilde- 
brand, Pope  Gregory  the  Seventh,  against  the  Emperor 
Henry  the  Fourth,  smarting  under  the  bitter  humilia- 
tion of  Canossa;  and  against  his  Antipope  Clement, 
more  than  a hundred  years  after  Otto  had  come  back 
in  anger  to  avenge  Pope  John.  There  is  no  more 
striking  picture  of  the  fearful  contest  between  the 
Church  and  the  Empire. 


126 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Alexis,  Emperor  of  the  East,  had  sent  Henry, 
Emperor  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  one  hundred 
and  forty-four  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  and  one  hun- 
dred pieces  of  woven  scarlet,  as  an  inducement  to  make 
war  upon  the  Norman  Duke,  the  Pope’s  friend.  But 
the  Romans  feared  Henry  and  sent  ambassadors  to 


PIAZZA  DI  SAN  GIOVANNI  IN  LATERANO 

him,  and  on  the  twenty-first  of  March,  being  the  Thurs- 
day before  Palm  Sunday,  the  Lateran  gate  was  opened 
for  him  to  enter  in  triumph.  The  city  was  divided 
against  itself,  the  nobles  were  for  Hildebrand,  the 
people  were  against  him.  The  Emperor  seized  the 
Lateran  palace  and  all  the  bridges.  The  Pope  fled  to 
the  Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo,  an  impregnable  fortress  in 
those  times,  ever  ready  and  ever  provisioned  for  a siege. 


Monti 


127 


Of  the  nobles  Henry  required  fifty  hostages  as  earnest 
of  their  neutrality.  On  the  next  day  he  threw  his  gold 
to  the  rabble  and  they  elected  his  Antipope  Gilbert, 
who  called  himself  Clement  the  Third,  and  certain 
bishops  from  North  Italy  consecrated  him  in  the 
Lateran  on  Palm  Sunday. 

Meanwhile  Hildebrand  secretly  sent  swift  riders  to 
Apulia,  calling  on  Robert  Guiscard  for  help,  and  still 
the  nobles  were  faithful  to  him,  and  though  Henry  held 
the  bridges,  they  were  strong  in  Trastevere  and  the 
Borgo,  which  is  the  region  between  the  Castle  of  Sant’ 
Angelo  and  Saint  Peter’s.  So  it  turned  out  that  when 
Henry  tried  to  bring  his  Antipope  in  solemn  procession 
to  enthrone  him  in  the  Pontifical  chair,  on  Easter  day, 
he  found  mailed  knights  and  footmen  waiting  for  him, 
and  had  to  fight  his  way  to  the  Vatican,  and  forty  of 
his  men  were  killed  and  wounded  in  the  fray,  while 
the  armed  nobles  lost  not  one.  Yet  he  reached  the 
Vatican  at  last,  and  there  he  was  crowned  by  the  false 
Pope  he  had  made,  with  the  crown  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire.  The  chronicler  apologizes  for  calling  him  an 
emperor  at  all.  Then  he  set  to  work  to  destroy  the 
dwellings  of  the  faithful  nobles,  and  laid  siege  to 
the  wonderful  Septizonium  of  Severus,  in  which  the 
true  Pope’s  nephew  had  fortified  himself,  and  began 
to  batter  it  down  with  catapults  and  battering-rams. 
Presently  came  the  message  of  vengeance,  brought  by 
one  man  outriding  a host,  while  the  rabble  were  still 


128 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


building  a great  wall  to  encircle  Sant’  Angelo  and 
starve  Hildebrand  to  death  or  submission,  working 
day  and  night  like  madmen,  tearing  down  everything 
at  hand  to  pile  the  great  stones  one  upon  another. 
Swiftly  came  the  terrible  Norman  from  the  south,  with 
his  six  thousand  horse,  Normans  and  Saracens,  and 
thirty  thousand  foot,  forcing  his  march  and  hungry 
for  the  Emperor.  But  Henry  fled,  making  pretext  of 
great  affairs  in  Lombardy,  promising  great  and  won- 
derful gifts  to  the  Roman  rabble,  and  entrusting  to 
their  care  his  imperial  city. 

Like  a destroying  whirlwind  of  fire  and  steel  Robert 
swept  on  to  the  gates  and  into  Rome,  burning  and 
slaying  as  he  rode,  and  sparing  neither  man,  nor 
woman,  nor  child,  till  the  red  blood  ran  in  rivers  be- 
tween walls  of  yellow  flame.  And  he  took  Hildebrand 
from  Sant’  Angelo,  and  brought  him  back  to  the  Lat- 
eran  through  the  reeking  ruins  of  the  city  in  grim 
and  fearful  triumph  of  carnage  and  destruction. 

That  was  the  end  of  the  Roman  Forum,  and  after- 
wards, when  the  blood-soaked  ashes  and  heaps  of  red- 
hot  rubbish  had  sunk  down  and  hardened  to  a level 
surface,  the  place  where  the  shepherd  fathers  of  Alba 
Longa  had  pastured  their  flocks  was  called  the  Campo 
Vaccino,  the  Cattle  Field,  because  it  was  turned  into 
the  market  for  beeves,  and  rows  of  trees  were  planted, 
and  on  one  side  there  was  a walk  where  ropes  were 
made,  even  to  our  own  time. 


/ 


Monti 


129 


It  became  also  the  fighting  ground  of  the  Regions. 
Among  the  strangest  scenes  in  the  story  of  the  city  are 
those  regular  encounters  between  the  Regions  of  Monti 
and  Trastevere  which  for  centuries  took  place  on  feast 
days,  by  appointment,  on  the  site  of  the  Forum,  or  oc- 
casionally on  the  wide  ground  before  the  Baths  of 
Diocletian.  They  were  battles  fought  with  stones,  and 
far  from  bloodless.  Monti  was  traditionally  of  the  Im- 
perial or  Ghibelline  party;  Trastevere  was  Guelph  and 
for  the  Popes.  The  enmity  was  natural  and  lasting,  on 
a small  scale,  as  it  was  throughout  Italy.  The  chal- 
lenge to  the  fray  was  regularly  sent  out  by  young  boys 
as  messengers,  and  the  place  and  hour  were  named 
and  the  word  passed  in  secret  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
It  was  even  determined  by  agreement  whether  the 
stones  were  to  be  thrown  by  hand  or  whether  the  more 
deadly  sling  was  to  be  used. 

At  the  appointed  time,  the  combatants  appear  in 
the  arena,  sometimes  as  many  as  a hundred  on  a 
side,  and  the  tournament  begins,  as  in  Homeric  times, 
with  taunts  and  abuse,  which  presently  end  in  skir- 
mishes between  the  boys  who  have  come  to  look  on. 
Scouts  are  placed  at  distant  points  to  cry  ‘Fire’  at  the 
approach  of  the  dreaded  Bargello  and  his  men,  who 
are  the  only  representatives  of  order  in  the  city  and 
not,  indeed,  anxious  to  face  two  hundred  infuriated 
slingers  for  the  sake  of  making  peace. 

One  boy  throws  a stone  and  runs  away,  followed  by 


VOL.  1 


K 


130  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

the  rest,  all  prudently  retiring  to  a safe  distance.  The 
real  combatants  wrap  their  long  cloaks  about  their  left 
arms,  as  the  old  Romans  used  their  togas  on  the 
same  ground,  to  shield  their  heads  from  the  blows ; 
a sling  whirls  half  a dozen  times  like  lightning,  and  a 
smooth  round  stone  flies  like  a bullet  straight  at  an 
enemy’s  face,  followed  by  a hundred  more  in  a deadly 
hail,  thick  and  fast.  Men  fall,  blood  flows,  short 
deep  curses  ring  through  the  sunny  air,  the  fighters 
creep  up  to  one  another,  dodging  behind  trees  and 
broken  ruins,  till  they  are  at  cruelly  short  range ; faster 
and  faster  fly  the  stones,  and  scores  are  lying  prostrate, 
bleeding,  groaning  and  cursing.  Strength,  courage, 
fierce  endurance  and  luck  have  it  at  last,  as  in  every 
battle.  Down  goes  the  leader  of  Trastevere,  half  dead, 
with  an  eye  gone,  down  goes  the  next  man  to  him,  his 
teeth  broken  under  his  torn  lips,  down  half  a dozen 
more,  dead  or  wounded,  and  the  day  is  lost.  Traste- 
vere flies  towards  the  bridge,  pursued  by  Monti  with 
hoots  and  yells  and  catcalls,  and  the  thousands  who 
have  seen  the  fight  go  howling  after  them,  women 
and  children  screaming,  dogs  racing  and  barking  and 
biting  at  their  heels.  And  far  behind  on  the  deserted 
Campo  Vaccino,  as  the  sun  goes  down,  women  weep 
and  frightened  children  sob  beside  the  young  dead. 
But  the  next  feast  day  would  come,  and  a counter- 
victory and  vengeance. 

That  has  always  been  the  temper  of  the  Romans; 


Monti 


I3i 

but  few  know  how  fiercely  it  used  to  show  itself  in 
those  days.  It  would  have  been  natural  enough  that 
men  should  meet  in  sudden  anger  and  kill  each  other 
with  such  weapons  as  they  chanced  to  have  or  could 
pick  up,  clubs,  knives,  stones,  anything,  when  fighting 
was  half  the  life  of  every  grown  man.  It  is  harder  to 
understand  the  murderous  stone  throwing  by  agreement 
and  appointment.  In  principle,  indeed,  it  approached 
the  tournament,  and  the  combat  of  champions  repre- 
senting two  parties  is  an  expression  of  the  ancient 
instinct  of  the  Latin  peoples ; so  the  Horatii  and 
Curiatii  fought  for  Rome  and  Alba  — so  Francis  the 
First  of  France  offered  to  fight  the  Emperor  Charles 
the  Fifth  for  settlement  of  all  quarrels  between  the 
Kingdom  and  the  Empire  — and  so  the  modern  French- 
man and  Italian  are  accustomed  to  settle  their  differ- 
ences by  an  appeal  to  what  they  still  call  ‘ arms,’  for 
the  sake  of  what  modern  society  is  pleased  to  dignify 
by  the  name  of  ‘honour.’ 

But  in  the  stone-throwing  combats  of  Campo  Vac- 
cino  there  was  something  else.  The  games  of  the 
circus  and  the  bloody  shows  of  the  amphitheatre  were 
not  forgotten.  As  will  be  seen  hereafter,  bull-fight- 
ing was  a favourite  sport  in  Rome  as  it  is  in  Spain 
today,  and  the  hand-to-hand  fights  between  cham- 
pions of  the  Regions  were  as  much  more  exciting  and 
delightful  to  the  crowd  as  the  blood  of  men  is  of  more 
price  than  the  blood  of  beasts. 


132 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


The  habit  of  fighting  for  its  own  sake,  with  danger- 
ous weapons,  made  the  Roman  rabble  terrible  when 
the  fray  turned  quite  to  earnest;  the  deadly  hail  of 
stones,  well  aimed  by  sling  and  hand,  was  familiar 
to  every  Roman  from  his  childhood,  and  the  sight  of 
naked  steel  at  arm’s  length  inspired  no  sudden,  keen 
and  unaccustomed  terror,  when  men  had  little  but 
life  to  lose  and  set  small  value  on  that,  throwing  it 
into  the  balance  for  a word,  rising  in  arms  for  a 
name,  doing  deeds  of  blood  and  flame  for  a handful 
of  gold  or  a day  of  power. 

Monti  was  both  the  battlefield  of  the  Regions  and 
also,  in  times  early  and  late,  the  scene  of  the  most 
splendid  pageants  of  Church  and  State.  There  is 
a strange  passage  in  the  writings  of  Ammianus  Mar- 
cellinus,  a pagan  Roman  of  Greek  birth,  contempo- 
rary with  Pope  Damasus  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
fourth  century.  Muratori  quotes  it,  as  showing  what 
the  Bishopric  of  Rome  meant  even  in  those  days.  It 
is  worth  reading,  for  a heathen’s  view  of  things  under 
Valens  and  Valentinian,  before  the  coming  of  the  Huns 
and  the  breaking  up  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and,  indeed, 
before  the  official  disestablishment,  as  we  should  say, 
of  the  heathen  religion;  while  the  High  Priest  of 
Jupiter  still  offered  sacrifices  on  the  Capitol,  and  the  six 
Vestal  Virgins  still  guarded  the  Seven  Holy  Things  of 
Rome,  and  held  their  vast  lands  and  dwelt  in  their  splen- 
did palace  in  all  freedom  of  high  privilege,  as  of  old. 


/ 


Monti 


133 


‘For  my  part,’  says  Ammianus,  ‘when  I see  the 
magnificence  in  which  the  Bishops  live  in  Rome,  I 
am  not  surprised  that  those  who  covet  the  dignity 
should  use  force  and  cunning  to  obtain  it.  For  if 
they  succeed,  they  are  sure  of  becoming  enormously 
rich  by  the  gifts  of  the  devout  Roman  matrons ; they 
will  drive  about  Rome  in  their  carriages,  as  they 
please,  gorgeously  dressed,  and  they  will  not  only 
keep  an  abundant  table,  but  will  give  banquets  so 
sumptuous  as  to  outdo  those  of  kings  and  emperors. 
They  do  not  see  that  they  could  be  truly  happy  if 
instead  of  making  the  greatness  of  Rome  an  excuse 
for  their  excesses,  they  would  live  as  some  of  the 
Bishops  of  the  Provinces  do,  who  are  sparing  and 
frugal,  poorly  clad  and  modest,  but  who  make  the 
humility  of  their  manners  and  the  purity  of  their 
lives  at  once  acceptable  to  their  God  and  to  their 
fellow  worshippers.’ 

So  much  Ammianus  says.  And  Saint  Jerome  tells 
how  Praetextatus,  Prefect  of  the  City,  when  Pope 
Damasus  tried  to  convert  him,  answered  with  a laugh, 
‘ I will  become  a Christian  if  you  will  make  me  Bishop 
of  Rome.’ 

Yet  Damasus,  famous  for  the  good  Latin  and  beauti- 
ful carving  of  the  many  inscriptions  he  composed  and 
set  up,  was  undeniably  also  a good  man  in  the  evil  days 
which  foreshadowed  the  great  schism. 

And  here,  in  the  year  366,  in  the  Region  of  Monti, 


*34 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


in  the  church  where  now  stands  Santa  Maria  Maggiore, 
a great  and  terrible  name  stands  out  for  the  first  time 
in  history.  Orsino,  Deacon  of  the  Holy  Roman  Catho- 
lic and  Apostolic  Church,  rouses  a party  of  the  people, 
declares  the  election  of  Damasus  invalid,  proclaims 


SANTA  MARIA  MAGGIORE 


himself  Pope  in  his  stead,  and  officiates  as  Pontiff  in 
the  Basilica  of  Sicininus.  Up  from  the  deep  city  comes 
the  roaring  crowd,  furious  and  hungry  for  fight;  the 
great  doors  are  closed  and  Orsino’s  followers  gather 
round  him  as  he  stands  on  the  steps  of  the  altar ; but 
they  are  few,  and  those  for  Damasus  are  many ; down 
go  the  doors,  burst  inward  with  battering-rams,  up 


/ 


Monti 


*35 


shoot  the  flames  to  the  roof,  and  the  short,  wild  fray- 
lasts  while  one  may  .count  five  score,  and  is  over. 
Orsino  and  a hundred  and  thirty-six  of  his  men  lie  dead 
on  the  pavement,  the  fire  licks  the  rafters,  the  crowd 
press  outward,  and  the  great  roof  falls  crashing  down 
into  wide  pools  of  blood.  And  after  that  Damasus 
reigns  eighteen  years  in  peace  and  splendour.  No 
one  knows  whether  the  daring  Deacon  was  of  the  race 
that  made  and  unmade  popes  afterwards,  and  held  half 
Italy  with  its  fortresses,  giving  its  daughters  to  kings 
and  taking  kings’  daughters  for  its  sons,  till  Vittoria 
Accoramboni  of  bad  memory  began  to  bring  down  a 
name  that  is  yet  great.  But  Orsino  he  was  called,  and 
he  had  in  him  much  of  the  lawless  strength  of  those 
namesakes  of  his  who  outfought  all  other  barons  but 
the  Colonna,  for  centuries ; and  romance  may  well 
make  him  one  of  them. 

Three  hundred  years  later,  and  a little  nearer  to 
us  in  the  dim  perspective  of  the  dark  ages,  another 
scene  is  enacted  in  the  same  cathedral.  Martin  the 
First  was  afterwards  canonized  as  Saint  Martin  for 
the  persecutions  he  suffered  at  the  hands  of  Constans, 
who  feared  and  hated  him  and  set  up  an  antipope 
in  his  stead,  and  at  last  sent  him  prisoner  to  die  a 
miserable  death  in  the  Crimea.  Olympius,  Exarch  of 
Italy,  was  the  chosen  tool  of  the  Emperor,  sent  again 
and  again  to  Rome  to  destroy  the  brave  Bishop  and 
make  way  for  the  impostor.  At  last,  says  the  greatest 


136 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


of  Italian  chroniclers,  fearing  the  Roman  people  and 
their  soldiers,  he  attempted  to  murder  the  Pope  foully, 
in  hideous  sacrilege.  To  that  end  he  pretended  peni- 
tence, and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  receive  the  Eucha- 
rist from  the  Pope  himself  at  solemn  high  Mass, 
secretly  instructing  one  of  his  body-guards  to  stab  the 
Bishop  at  the  very  moment  when  he  should  present 
Olympius  with  the  consecrated  bread. 

Up  to  the  basilica  they  went,  in  grave  and  splendid 
procession.  One  may  guess  the  picture,  with  its  deep 
colour,  with  the  strong  faces  of  those  men,  the  Eastern 
guards,  the  gorgeous  robes,  the  gilded  arms,  the  high 
sunlight  crossing  the  low  nave  and  falling  through  the 
yellow  clouds  of  incense  upon  the  venerable  bearded 
head  of  the  holy  man  whose  death  was  purposed  in  the 
sacred  office.  First,  the  measured  tread  of  the  Exarch’s 
band  moving  in  order;  then,  the  silence  over  all  the 
kneeling  throng,  and  upon  it  the  bursting  unison  of 
the  ‘ Gloria  in  Excelsis  ’ from  the  choir.  Chant  upon 
chant  as  the  Pontiff  and  his  Ministers  intone  the  Epistle 
and  the  Gospel  and  are  taken  up  by  the  singers  in 
chorus  at  the  first  words  of  the  Creed.  By  and  by,  the 
Pope’s  voice  alone,  still  clear  and  brave  in  the  Preface. 
‘ Therefore  with  Angels  and  Archangels,  and  all  the 
company  of  Heaven,’  he  chants,  and  again  the  har- 
mony of  many  voices  singing  ‘ Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord 
God  of  Sabaoth.’  Silence  then,  at  the  Consecration, 
and  the  dark-browed  Exarch  bowing  to  the  pavement, 


/ 


Monti 


137 


beside  the  paid  murderer  whose  hand  is  already  on  his 
dagger’s  hilt.  ‘ O Lamb  of  God,  that  takest  away  the 
sins  of  the  world,’  sings  the  choir  in  its  sad,  high  chant, 
and  Saint  Martin  bows,  standing,  over  the  altar,  himself 
communicating,  while  the  Exarch  holds  his  breath,  and 
the  slayer  fixes  his  small,  keen  eyes  on  the  embroidered 
vestments  and  guesses  how  they  will  look  with  a red 
splash  upon  them. 

As  the  soldier  looks,  the  sunlight  falls  more  brightly 
on  the  gold,  the  incense  curls  in  mystic  spiral  wreaths, 
its  strong  perfume  penetrates  and  dims  his  senses;  little 
by  little,  his  thoughts  wander  till  they  are  strangely 
fixed  on  something  far  away,  and  he  no  longer  sees 
Pope  nor  altar  nor  altar-piece  beyond,  and  is  wrapped 
in  a sort  of  waking  sleep  that  is  blindness.  Olympius 
kneels  at  the  steps  within  the  rail,  and  his  heart  beats 
loud  as  the  grand  figure  of  the  Bishop  bends  over  him, 
and  the  thin  old  hand  with  its  strong  blue  veins  offers 
the  sacred  bread  to  his  open  lips.  He  trembles,  and 
tries  to  glance  sideways  to  his  left  with  downcast  eyes, 
for  the  moment  has  come,  and  the  blow  must  be  struck 
then  or  never.  Not  a breath,  not  a movement  in  the 
church,  not  the  faintest  clink  of  all  those  gilded  arms, 
as  the  Saint  pronounces  the  few  solemn  words,  then 
gravely  and  slowly  turns,  with  his  deacons  to  right 
and  left  of  him,  and  ascends  the  altar  steps  once  more, 
unhurt.  A miracle,  says  the  chronicler.  A miracle, 
says  the  amazed  soldier,  and  repeats  it  upon  solemn 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


133 

oath.  A miracle,  says  Olympius  himself,  penitent  and 
converted  from  error,  and  ready  to  save  the  Pope  by 
all  means  he  has,  as  he  was  ready  to  slay  him  before. 
But  he  only,  and  the  hired  assassin  beside  him,  had 
known  what  was  to  be,  and  the  people  say  that  the 
Exarch  and  the  Pope  were  already  reconciled  and 
agreed  against  the  Emperor. 

The  vast  church  has  had  many  names.  It  seems  at 
one  time  to  have  been  known  as  the  Basilica  of 
Sicininus,  for  so  Ammianus  Marcellinus  still  speaks  of 
it.  But  just  before  that,  there  is  the  lovely  legend 
of  Pope  Liberius’  dream.  To  him  and  to  the  Roman 
patrician,  John,  came  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  a dream, 
one  night  in  high  summer,  commanding  them  to  build 
her  a church  wheresoever  they  should  find  snow  on  the 
morrow.  And  together  they  found  it,  glistening  in  the 
morning  sun,  and  they  traced,  on  the  white,  the  plan 
of  the  foundation,  and  together  built  the  first  church, 
calling  it  ‘ Our  Lady  of  Snows,’  for  Damasus  to  burn 
when  Orsino  seized  it,  — but  the  people  spoke  of  it 
as  the  Basilica  of  Liberius.  It  was  called  also  ‘ Our 
Lady  of  the  Manger,’  from  the  relic  held  holy  there ; 
and  Sixtus  the  Third  named  it  ‘ Our  Lady,  Mother  of 
God  ’ ; and  under  many  popes  it  was  rebuilt  and  grew, 
until  at  last,  for  its  size,  it  was  called,  as  it  is  today, 
‘The  Greater  Saint  Mary’s.’  At  one  time,  the  popes 
lived  near  it,  and  in  our  own  century,  when  the  palace 
had  long  been  transferred  to  the  Quirinal,  a mile  to 


/ 


Monti 


139 

northward  of  the  basilica,  Papal  Bulls  were  dated 
‘ From  Santa  Maria  Maggiore.’ 

It  is  too  gorgeous  now,  too  overladen,  too  rich;  and 
yet  it  is  imposing.  The  first  gold  brought  from  South 
America  gilds  the  profusely  decorated  roof,  the  dark 
red  polished  porphyry  pillars  of  the  high  altar  gleam  in 
the  warm  haze  of  light,  the  endless  marble  columns 
rise  in  shining  ranks,  all  is  gold,  marble  and  colour. 

Many  dead  lie  there,  great  men  and  good ; and  one 
over  whom  a sort  of  mystery  hangs,  for  he  was 
Bartolommeo  Sacchi,  Cardinal  Platina,  historian  of  the 
Church,  a chief  member  of  the  famous  Roman  Acad- 
emy of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  a mediaeval  pagan, 
accused  with  Pomponius  Letus  and  others  of  worship- 
ping false  gods ; tried,  acquitted  for  lack  of  evidence ; 
dead  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  ; proved  at  last  ten  times 
a heathen,  and  a bad  one,  today,  by  inscriptions  found 
in  the  remotest  part  of  the  Catacombs,  where  he  and 
his  companions  met  in  darkest  secret  to  perform  their 
extravagant  rites.  He  lies  beneath  the  chapel  of  Sixtus 
the  Fifth,  but  the  stone  that  marked  the  spot  is  gone. 

Strange  survivals  of  ideas  and  customs  cling  to  some 
places  like  ghosts,  and  will  not  be  driven  away.  The 
Esquiline  was  long  ago  the  haunt  of  witches,  who 
chanted  their  nightly  incantations  over  the  shallow 
graves  where  slaves  were  buried,  and  under  the  hideous 
crosses  whereon  dead  malefactors  had  groaned  away 
their  last  hours  of  life.  Maecenas  cleared  the  land 


140 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


and  beautified  it  with  gardens,  but  still  the  witches 
came  by  stealth  to  their  old  haunts.  The  popes  built 
churches  and  palaces  on  it,  but  the  dark  memories 
never  vanished  in  the  light ; and  even  in  our  own 
days,  on  Saint  John’s  Eve,  which  is  the  witches’  night 
of  the  Latin  race,  as  the  Eve  of  May-day  is  the  Wal- 
purgis  of  the  Northmen,  the  people  went  out  in  thou- 
sands, with  torches  and  lights,  and  laughing  tricks  of 
exorcism,  to  scare  away  the  powers  of  evil  for  the  year. 

On  that  night  the  vast  open  spaces  around  the 
Lateran  were  thronged  with  men  and  women  and 
children ; against  the  witches’  dreaded  influence  they 
carried  each  an  onion,  torn  up  by  the  roots  with  stalk 
and  flower ; all  about,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  place, 
were  kitchen  booths,  set  up  with  boughs  and  bits  of 
awnings,  yellow  with  the  glare  of  earthen  and  iron  oil 
lamps,  where  snails  — great  counter-charms  against 
spells  — were  fried  and  baked  in  oil,  and  sold  with 
bread  and  wine,  and  eaten  with  more  or  less  appetite, 
according  to  the  strength  of  men’s  stomachs.  All 
night,  till  the  early  summer  dawn,  the  people  came  and 
went,  and  wandered  round  and  round,  and  in  and  out,  in- 
parties and  by  families,  to  go  laughing  homeward  at 
last,  scarce  knowing  why  they  had  gone  there  at  all, 
unless  it  were  because  their  fathers  and  mothers  had 
done  as  they  did  for  generations  unnumbered. 

And  the  Lateran  once  had  another  half-heathen 
festival,  on  the  Saturday  after  Easter,  in  memory  of 


Monti 


141 

the  ancient  Floralia  of  the  Romans,  which  had  formerly 
been  celebrated  on  the  28th  of  April.  It  was  a most 
strange  festival,  now  long  forgotten,  in  which  Christi- 
anity and  paganism  were  blended  together.  Baracconi, 
from  whom  the  following  account  is  taken,  quotes  three 
sober  writers  as  authority  for  his  description.  Yet 
there  is  a doubt  about  the  very  name  of  the  feast, 
which  is  variously  called  the  ‘ Coromania  ’ and  the 
‘ Cornomania.’ 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  Saturday  in  Easter  week, 
say  these  writers,  the  priests  of  the  eighteen  principal 
‘ deaconries  ’ — an  ecclesiastical  division  of  the  city 
long  ago  abolished  and  now  somewhat  obscure  — 
caused  the  bells  to  be  rung,  and  the  people  assembled 
at  their  parish  churches,  where  they  were  received  by  a 
‘ mansionarius,’  — probably  meaning  here  4 a visitor  of 
houses,’  — and  a layman,  who  was  arrayed  in  a tunic, 
and  crowned  with  the  flowers  of  the  cornel  cherry.  In 
his  hand  he  carried  a concave  musical  instrument  of 
copper,  by  which  hung  many  little  bells.  One  of  these 
mysterious  personages,  who  evidently  represented  the 
pagan  element  in  the  ceremony,  preceded  each  parish 
procession,  being  followed  immediately  by  the  parish 
priest,  wearing  the  cope.  From  all  parts  of  the  city 
they  went  up  to  the  Lateran,  and  waited  before  the 
palace  of  the  Pope  till  all  were  assembled. 

The  Pope  descended  the  steps  to  receive  the  homage 
of  the  people.  Immediately,  those  of  each  parish 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


142 

formed  themselves  into  wide  circles  round  their  re- 
spective ‘ visitors  * and  priests,  and  the  strange  rite 
began.  In  the  midst  the  priest  stood  still.  Round  and 
round  him  the  lay  * visitor’  moved  in  a solemn  dance, 
striking  his  copper  bells  rhythmically  to  his  steps, 
while  all  the  circle  followed  his  gyrations,  chanting  a 
barbarous  invocation,  half  Latin  and  half  Greek : 
* Hail,  divinity  of  this  spot ! Receive  our  prayers  in 
fortunate  hour ! ’ and  many  verses  more  to  the  same 
purpose,  and  quite  beyond  being  construed  grammat- 
ically. 

The  dance  is  over  with  the  song.  One  of  the  parish 
priests  mounts  upon  an  ass,  backwards,  facing  the 
beast’s  tail,  and  a papal  chamberlain  leads  the  animal, 
holding  over  its  head  a basin  containing  twenty  pieces 
of  copper  money.  When  they  have  passed  three  rows 
of  benches  — which  benches,  by  the  bye?  — the  priest 
leans  back,  puts  his  hand  behind  him  into  the  basin, 
and  pockets  the  coins. 

Then  all  the  priests  lay  garlands  at  the  feet  of  the 
Pope.  But  the  priest  of  Santa  Maria  in  Via  Lata  also 
lets  a live  fox  out  of  a bag,  and  the  little  creature  sud- 
denly let  loose  flies  for  its  life,  through  the  parting 
crowd,  out  to  the  open  country,  seeking  cover.  It  is  like 
the  Hebrew  scapegoat.  In  return  each  priest  receives 
a golden  coin  from  the  Pontiff’s  hand.  The  rite  being 
finished,  all  return  to  their  respective  parishes,  the 
dancing  ‘visitor’  still  leading  the  procession.  Each 


/ 


Monti 


143 

priest  is  accompanied  then  by  acolytes  who  bear  holy 
water,  branches  of  laurel,  and  baskets  of  little  rolls,  or  of 
those  big,  sweet  wafers,  rolled  into  a cylinder  and  baked, 
which  are  called  ‘cialdoni,’  and  are  eaten  to  this  day 
by  Romans  with  ice  cream.  From  house  to  house  they 
go ; the  priest  blesses  each  dwelling,  sprinkling  water 
about  with  the  laurel,  and  then  burning  the  branch  on 
the  hearth  and  giving  some  of  the  rolls  to  the  children. 
And  all  the  time  the  dancer  slowly  dances  and  chants 
the  strange  words  made  up  of  some  Hebrew,  a little 
Chaldean  and  a leavening  of  nonsense. 

Jaritan,  jaritan,  iarariasti 

Raphaym,  akrhoin,  azariasti ! 

One  may  leave  the  interpretation  of  the  jargon  to  curi- 
ous scholars.  As  for  the  rite  itself,  were  it  not  attested 
by  trustworthy  writers,  one  would  be  inclined  to  treat  it 
as  a mere  invention,  no  more  to  be  believed  than  the 
legend  of  Pope  Joan,  who  was  supposed  to  have  been 
stoned  to  death  near  San  Clemente,  on  the  way  to  the 
Lateran. 

An  extraordinary  number  of  traditions  cling  to  the 
Region  of  Monti,  and  considering  that  in  later  times  a 
great  part  of  this  quarter  was  a wilderness,  the  fact 
would  seem  strange.  As  for  the  ‘ Coromania  ’ it  seems 
to  have  disappeared  after  the  devastation  of  Monti  by 
Robert  Guiscard  in  1084,  and  the  general  destruction  of 
the  city  from  the  Lateran  to  the  Capitol  is  attributed  to 


144 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  Saracens  who  were  with  him.  But  a more  logical 
cause  of  depopulation  is  found  in  the  disappearance  of 
water  from  the  upper  Region  by  the  breaking  of  the 
aqueducts,  from  which  alone  it  was  derived.  The  con- 
sequence of  this,  in  the  Middle  Age,  was  that  the  only 
obtainable  water  came  from  the  river,  and  was  natu- 
rally taken  from  it  up-stream,  towards  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  which  it  was  collected  in- 
tanks  and  kept  until  the  mud  sank  to  the  bottom  and  it 
was  approximately  fit  to  drink. 

In  Imperial  times  the  greater  number  of  the  public 
baths  were  situated  in  the  Monti.  The  great  Piazza  di 
Termini,  now  re-named  Piazza  delle  Terme,  before  the 
railway  station,  took  its  name  from  the  Baths  of  Diocle- 
tian— ‘Thermae,’  ‘Terme,’  ‘Termini.’  The  Baths  of 
Titus,  the  Baths  of  Constantine,  of  Philippus,  Novatus 
and  others  were  all  in  Monti,  supplied  by  the  aqueduct 
of  Claudius,  the  Anio  Novus,  the  Aqua  Marcia,  Tepula, 
Julia,  Marcia  Nova  and  Anio  Vetus.  No  people  in  the 
world  were  such  bathers  as  the  old  Romans ; yet  few 
cities  have  ever  suffered  so  much  or  so  long  from  lack 
of  good  water  as  Rome  in  the  Middle  Age.  The 
supply  cut  off,  the  whole  use  of  the  vast  institutions 
was  instantly  gone,  and  the  huge  halls  and  porticos 
and  playgrounds  fell  to  ruin  and  base  uses.  Owing  to 
their  peculiar  construction  and  being  purposely  made 
easy  of  access  on  all  sides,  like  the  temples,  the  build- 
ings could  not  even  be  turned  to  account  by  the  Barons 


Monti 


T45 


for  purposes  of  fortification,  except  as  quarries  for  ma- 
terial with  which  to  build  their  towers  and  bastions. 
The  inner  chambers  became  hiding-places  for  thieves, 
herdsmen  in  winter  penned  their  flocks  in  the  shelter  of 
the  great  halls,  grooms  used  the  old  playground  as  a 
track  for  breaking  horses,  and  round  and  about  the 


PORTA  MAGGIORE,  SUPPORTING  THE  CHANNELS  OF  THE  AQUEDUCT  OF 
CLAUDIUS  AND  THE  ANIO  NOVUS 


ruins,  on  feast  days,  the  men  of  Monti  and  Trastevere 
chased  one  another  in  their  murderous  tournaments  of 
stone  throwing.  A fanatic  Sicilian  priest  saved  the 
great  hall  of  Diocletian’s  Baths  from  destruction  in 
Michelangelo’s  time. 

The  story  is  worth  telling,  for  it  is  little  known. 
In  a little  church  in  Palermo,  in  which  the  humble 


VOL.  i 


L 


146 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


priest  Antonio  Del  Duca  officiated,  he  discovered  under 
the  wall-plaster  a beautiful  fresco  or  mosaic  of  the 
Seven  Archangels,  with  their  names  and  attributes. 
Day  after  day  he  looked  at  the  fair  figures  till  they 
took  possession  of  his  mind  and  heart  and  soul,  and 
inspired  him  with  the  apparently  hopeless  desire  to 
erect  a church  in  Rome  in  their  honour.  To  Rome 
he  came,  persuaded  of  his  righteous  mission,  to  fail 
of  course,  after  seven  years  of  indefatigable  effort. 
Back  to  Palermo  then,  to  the  contemplation  of  his 
beloved  angels.  And  again  they  seemed  to  drive  him 
to  Rome.  Scarcely  had  he  returned  when  in  a dream 
he  seemed  to  see  his  ideal  church  among  the  ruins  of 
the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  which  had  been  built,  as  tra- 
dition said,  by  thousands  of  condemned  Christians.  To 
dream  was  to  wake  with  new  enthusiasm,  to  wake  was 
to  act.  In  an  hour,  in  the  early  dawn,  he  was  in  the 
great  hall  which  is  now  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
degli  Angeli,  ‘ Saint  Mary  of  the  Angels.’ 

But  it  was  long  before  his  purpose  was  finally  accom- 
plished. Thirty  years  of  his  life  he  spent  in  unremit- 
ting labour  for  his  purpose,  and  an  accident  at  last 
determined  his  success.  He  had  brought  a nephew 
with  him  from  Sicily,  a certain  Giacomo  Del  Duca, 
a sculptor,  who  was  employed  by  Michelangelo  to 
carve  the  great  mask  over  the  Porta  Pia.  Pope  Pius 
the  Fourth,  for  whom  the  gate  was  named,  praised  the 
stone  face  to  Michelangelo,  who  told  him  who  had 


Monti 


147 


made  it.  The  name  recalled  the  sculptor’s  uncle  and 
his  mad  project,  which  appealed  to  Michelangelo’s 
love  of  the  gigantic.  Even  the  coincidence  of  appella- 
tion pleased  the  Pope,  for  he  himself  had  been  chris- 
tened Angelo,  and  his  great  architect  and  sculptor  bore 
an  archangel’s  name.  So  the  work  was  done  in  short 
time,  the  great  church  was  consecrated,  and  one  of 
the  noblest  of  Roman  buildings  was  saved  from  ruin 
by  the  poor  Sicilian,  — and  there,  in  1896,  the  heir 
to  the  throne  of  Italy  was  married  with  great  mag- 
nificence, that  particular  church  being  chosen  because, 
as  a historical  monument,  it  is  regarded  as  the  property 
of  the  Italian  State,  and  is  therefore  not  under  the  im- 
mediate management  of  the  Vatican.  Probably  not  one 
in  a thousand  of  the  splendid  throng  that  filled  the 
church  had  heard  the  name  of  Antonio  Del  Duca,  who 
lies  buried  before  the  high  altar  without  a line  to  tell  of 
all  he  did.  So  lies  Bernini,  somewhere  in  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore,  so  lies  Platina, — he,  at  least,  the  better  for 
no  epitaph,  — and  Beatrice  Cenci  and  many  others, 
rest  unforgotten  in  nameless  graves. 

From  the  church  to  the  railway  station  stretch  the 
ruins,  continuous,  massive,  almost  useless,  yet  dear  to 
all  who  love  old  Rome.  On  the  south  side,  there  used 
to  be  a long  row  of  buildings,  ending  in  a tall  old  man- 
sion of  good  architecture,  which  was  the  ‘ Casino  ’ of 
the  great  old  Villa  Negroni.  In  that  house,  but  re- 
cently gone,  Thomas  Crawford,  sculptor,  lived  for  many 


148  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

years,  and  in  the  long,  low  studio  that  stood  before 
what  is  now  the  station,  but  was  then  a field,  he  mod- 
elled the  great  statue  of  Liberty  that  crowns  the  Capi- 
tol in  Washington,  and  Washington’s  own  monument 
which  stands  in  Richmond,  and  many  of  his  other 
works.  My  own  early  childhood  was  spent  there, 
among  the  old-time  gardens,  and  avenues  of  lordly 
cypresses  and  of  bitter  orange  trees,  and  the  moss- 
grown  fountains,  and  long  walks  fragrant  with  half-wild 
roses  and  sweet  flowers  that  no  one  thinks  of  planting 
now.  Beyond,  a wild  waste  of  field  and  broken  land 
led  up  to  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  ; and  the  grand  old 
bells  sent  their  far  voices  ringing  in  deep  harmony  to 
our  windows;  and  on  the  Eve  of  Saint  Peter’s  day, 
when  Saint  Peter’s  was  a dream  of  stars  in  the  distance 
and  the  gorgeous  fireworks  gleamed  in  the  dark  sky 
above  the  Pincio,  we  used  to  climb  the  high  tower 
above  the  house  and  watch  the  still  illumination  and  the 
soaring  rockets  through  a grated  window,  till  the  last 
one  had  burst  and  spent  itself,  and  we  crept  down  the 
steep  stone  steps,  half  frightened  at  the  sound  of  our 
own  voices  in  the  ghostly  place. 

And  in  that  same  villa  once  lived  Vittoria  Accoram- 
boni,  married  to  Francesco  Peretti,  nephew  of  Cardinal 
Montalto,  who  built  the  house,  and  was  afterwards  Six- 
tus the  Fifth,  and  filled  Rome  with  his  works  in  the  five 
years  of  his  stirring  reign.  Hers  also  is  a story  worth 
telling,  for  few  know  it,  even  among  Romans,  and  it  is 


Monti 


149 


a tale  of  bloodshed,  and  of  murder,  and  of  all  crimes 
against  God  and  man,  and  of  the  fall  of  the  great  house 
of  Orsini.  But  it  may  better  be  told  in  another  place, 
when  we  reach  the  Region  where  they  lived  and  fought 
and  ruled,  by  terror  and  the  sword. 

Near  the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  and  most  probably  on 
the  site  of  that  same  Villa  Negroni,  too,  was  that  vine- 
yard, or  ‘ villa  ’ as  we  should  say,  where  Caesar  Borgia 
and  his  elder  brother,  the  Duke  of  Gandia,  supped  to- 
gether for  the  last  time  with  their  mother  Vanozza,  on 
the  night  of  the  14th  of  June,  in  the  year  1497.  There 
has  always  been  a dark  mystery  about  what  followed. 
Many  say  that  Caesar  feared  his  brother’s  power  and 
influence  with  the  Pope.  Not  a few  others  suggest  that 
the  cause  of  the  mutual  hatred  was  a jealousy  so  horri- 
ble to  think  of  that  one  may  hardly  find  words  for  it, 
for  its  object  was  their  own  sister  Lucrezia.  However 
that  may  be,  they  supped  together  with  their  mother  in 
her  villa,  after  the  manner  of  Romans  in  those  times, 
and  long  before  then,  and  long  since.  In  the  first  days 
of  summer  heat,  when  the  freshness  of  spring  is  gone 
and  June  grows  sultry,  the  people  of  the  city  have  ever 
loved  to  breathe  a cooler  air.  In  the  Region  of  Monti 
there  were  a score  of  villas,  and  there  were  wide  vine- 
yards and  little  groves  of  trees,  such  as  could  grow 
where  there  was  not  much  water,  or  none  at  all  perhaps, 
saving  what  was  collected  in  cisterns  from  the  roofs  of 
the  few  scattered  houses,  when  it  rained. 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


150 

In  the  long  June  twilight  the  three  met  together,  the 
mother  and  her  two  sons,  and  sat  down  under  an  arbour 
in  the  garden,  for  the  air  was  dry  with  the  south  wind 
and  there  was  no  fear  of  fever.  Screened  lamps  and 
wax  torches  shed  changing  tints  of  gold  and  yellow  on 
the  fine  linen,  and  the  deep-chiselled  dishes  and  vessels 
of  silver,  and  the  tall  glasses  and  beakers  of  many  hues. 
Fruit  was  piled  up  in  the  midst,  such  as  the  season  af- 
forded, cherries  and  strawberries,  and  bright  oranges 
from  the  south.  One  may  fancy  the  dark-browed 
woman  of  forty  years,  in  the  beauty  of  maturity  almost 
too  ripe,  with  her  black  eyes  and  hair  of  auburn,  her 
jewelled  cap,  her  gold  laces  just  open  at  her  marble 
throat,  her  gleaming  earrings,  her  sleeves  slashed  to 
show  gauze-fine  linen,  her  white,  ring-laden  fingers  that 
delicately  took  the  finely  carved  meats  in  her  plate  — 
before  forks  were  used  in  Rome  — and  dabbled  them- 
selves clean  from  each  touch  in  the  scented  water  the 
little  page  poured  over  them.  On  her  right,  her  eldest, 
Gandia,  fair,  weak-mouthed,  sensually  beautiful,  splendid 
in  velvet,  and  chain  of  gold,  and  deep-red  silk,  his  blue 
eyes  glancing  now  and  then,  half  scornfully,  half  anx- 
iously at  his  strong  brother.  And  he,  Caesar,  the  man 
of  infamous  memory,  sitting  there  the  very  incarnation 
of  bodily  strength  and  mental  daring ; square  as  a gladi- 
ator, dark  as  a Moor,  with  deep  and  fiery  eyes,  now 
black,  now  red  in  the  lamplight,  the  marvellous  smile 
wreathing  his  thin  lips  now  and  then,  and  showing 


/ 


Monti 


I5i 

white,  wolfish  teeth,  his  sinewy  brown  hands  direct  in 
every  little  action,  his  soft  voice  the  very  music  of  a 
lie  to  those  who  knew  the  terrible  brief  tones  it  had 
in  wrath. 

Long  they  sat,  sipping  the  strong  iced  wine,  toying 
with  fruits  and  nuts,  talking  of  State  affairs,  of  the 
Pope,  of  Maximilian,  the  jousting  Emperor, — discussing, 
perhaps,  with  a smile,  his  love  of  dress  and  the  beau- 
tiful fluted  armour  which  he  first  invented;  — of  Lewis 
the  Eleventh  of  France,  tottering  to  his  grave,  strangest 
compound  of  devotion,  avarice  and  fear  that  ever  filled 
a throne;  of  Frederick  of  Naples,  to  whom  Caesar  was 
to  bear  the  crown  within  a few  days;  of  Lucrezia’s  quar- 
rel with  her  husband,  which  had  brought  her  to  Rome ; 
and  at  her  name  Caesar’s  eyes  blazed  once  and  looked 
down  at  the  strawberries  on  the  silver  dish,  and  Gandia 
turned  pale,  and  felt  the  chill  of  the  night  air,  and 
stately  Vanozza  rose  slowly  in  the  silence,  and  bade 
her  evil  sons  good-night,  for  it  was  late. 

Two  hours  later,  Gandia’s  thrice-stabbed  corpse  lay 
rolling  and  bobbing  at  the  Tiber’s  edge,  as  dead  things 
do  in  the  water,  caught  by  its  silks  and  velvets  in  wild 
branches  that  dipped  in  the  muddy  stream ; and  the 
waning  moon  rose  as  the  dawn  forelightened. 

If  the  secrets  of  old  Rome  could  be  known  and  told, 
they  would  fill  the  world  with  books.  Every  stone  has 
tasted  blood,  every  house  has  had  its  tragedy,  every 
shrub  and  tree  and  blade  of  grass  and  wild  flower  has 


152 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


sucked  life  from  death,  and  blossoms  on  a grave.  There 
is  no  end  of  memories,  in  this  one  Region,  as  in  all  the 
rest.  Far  up  by  Porta  Pia,  over  against  the  new 
Treasury,  under  a modern  street,  lie  the  bones  of  guilty 
Vestals,  buried  living,  each  in  a little  vault  two  fathoms 
deep,  with  the  small  dish  and  crust  and  the  earthen 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  COLOSSEUM 


lamp  that  soon  flickered  out  in  the  close  damp  air ; and 
there  lies  that  innocent  one,  Domitian’s  victim,  who 
shrank  from  the  foul  help  of  the  headsman’s  hand,  as 
her  foot  slipped  on  the  fatal  ladder,  and  fixed  her  pure 
eyes  once  upon  the  rabble,  and  turned  and  went  down 
alone  into  the  deadly  darkness.  Down  by  the  Colos- 
seum, where  the  ruins  of  Titus’  Baths  still  stand  in 
part,  stood  Nero’s  dwelling  palace,  above  the  artificial 


/ 


Monti 


153 


lake  in  which  the  Colosseum  itself  was  built,  and  whose 
waters  reflected  the  flames  of  the  great  fire.  To  north- 
ward, in  a contrast  that  leaps  ages,  rise  the  huge  walls 
of  the  Tor  de’  Conti,  greatest  of  mediaeval  fortresses 
built  within  the  city,  the  stronghold  of  a dim,  great 
house,  long  passed  away,  kinsmen  of  Innocent  the 
Third.  What  is  left  of  it  helps  to  enclose  a peaceful 
nunnery. 

There  were  other  towers,  too,  and  fortresses,  though 
none  so  strong  as  that,  when  it  faced  the  Colosseum, 
filled  then  by  the  armed  thousands  of  the  great  Fran- 
gipani. The  desolate  wastes  of  land  in  the  Monti  were 
ever  good  battlefields  for  the  nobles  and  the  people. 
But  the  stronger  and  wiser  and  greater  Orsini  fortified 
themselves  in  the  town,  in  Pompey’s  theatre,  while  the 
Colonna  held  the  midst,  and  the  popes  dwelt  far  aloof 
on  the  boundary,  with  the  open  country  behind  them 
for  ready  escape,  and  the  changing,  factious,  fighting 
city  before. 

The  everlasting  struggle,  the  furious  jealousy,  the 
always  ready  knife,  kept  the  Regions  distinct  and  in- 
dividual and  often  at  enmity  with  each  other,  most  of 
all  Monti  and  Trastevere,  hereditary  adversaries,  Ghib- 
elline  and  Guelph.  Trastevere  has  something  of  that 
proud  and  violent  character  still.  Monti  lost  it  in  the 
short  eruption  of  ‘progress’  and  ‘development.’  In 
the  wild  rage  of  speculation  which  culminated  in  1889, 
its  desolate  open  lands,  its  ancient  villas  and  its  strange 


154 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


old  houses  were  the  natural  prey  of  a foolish  greediness 
the  like  of  which  has  never  been  seen  before.  Progress 
ate  up  romance,  and  hundreds  of  acres  of  wretched, 
cheaply  built,  hideous,  unsafe  buildings  sprang  up  like 
the  unhealthy  growth  of  a foul  disease,  between  the 
Lateran  gate  and  the  old  inhabited  districts.  They  are 
destined  to  a graceless  and  ignoble  ruin.  Ugly  cracks 
in  the  miserable  stucco  show  where  the  masonry  is 
already  parting,  as  the  hollow  foundations  subside,  and 
walls  on  which  the  paint  is  still  almost  fresh  are  shored 
up  with  dusty  beams  lest  they  should  fall  and  crush 
the  few  paupers  who  dwell  within.  Filthy,  half-washed 
clothes  of  beggars  hang  down  from  the  windows,  drying 
in  the  sun  as  they  flap  and  flutter  against  pretentious 
moulded  masks  of  empty  plaster.  Miserable  children 
loiter  in  the  high-arched  gates,  under  which  smart 
carriages  were  meant  to  drive,  and  gnaw  their  dirty 
fingers,  or  fight  for  a cold  boiled  chestnut  one  of  them 
has  saved.  Squalor,  misery,  ruin  and  vile  stucco,  with 
a sprinkling  of  half-desperate  humanity,  — those  are 
the  elements  of  the  modern  picture,  — that  is  what  the 
* great  development  ’ of  modern  Rome  brought  forth 
and  left  behind  it.  Peace  to  the  past,  and  to  its  ashes 
of  romance  and  beauty. 


REGION  II  TREVI 

In  Imperial  times,  the  street  now  called  the  Tritone, 
from  the  Triton  on  the  fountain  in  Piazza  Barberini,  led 
up  from  the  Portico  of  Vipsanius  Agrippa’s  sister  in  the 
modern  Corso  to  the  temple  of  Flora  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Quattro  Fontane.  It  was  met  at  right  angles  by 
a long  street  leading  straight  from  the  Forum  of  Trajan, 
and  which  struck  it  close  to  the  Arch  of  Claudius. 
Then,  as  now,  this  point  was  the  meeting  of  two  prin- 
cipal thoroughfares,  and  it  was  called  Trivium,  or  the 
‘crossroads.’  Trivium  turned  itself  into  the  Italian 
‘Trevi,’  called  in  some  chronicles  ‘the  Cross  of  Trevi.’ 
The  Arch  of  Claudius  carried  the  Aqua  Virgo,  still 
officially  called  the  Acqua  Vergine,  across  the  high- 


i55 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


156 

way  ; the  water,  itself,  came  to  be  called  the  water  ‘ of 
the  crossroads’  or  ‘of  Trevi,’  and  ‘Trevi’  gave  its 
name  at  last  to  the  Region,  long  before  the  splendid 
fountain  was  built  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century. 
The  device  of  the  Region  seems  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  water,  except,  perhaps,  that  the  idea  of  a tri- 
plicity  is  preserved  in  the  three  horizontally  disposed 
rapiers. 

The  legend  that  tells  how  the  water  was  discovered 
gave  it  the  first  name  it  bore.  A detachment  of  Roman 
soldiers,  marching  down  from  Praeneste,  or  Palestrina, 
in  the  summer  heat,  were  overcome  by  thirst,  and  could 
find  neither  stream  nor  well.  A little  girl,  passing  that 
way,  led  them  aside  from  the  high-road  and  brought 
them  to  a welling  spring,  clear  and  icy  cold,  known  only 
to  shepherds  and  peasants.  They  drank  their  fill  and 
called  it  Aqua  Virgo,  the  Maiden  Water.  And  so  it 
has  remained  for  all  ages.  But  it  is  commonly  called 
‘Trevi’  in  Rome,  by  the  people  and  by  strangers,  and 
the  name  has  a ring  of  poetry,  by  its  associations.  For 
they  say  that  whoever  will  go  to  the  great  fountain, 
when  the  high  moon  rays  dance  upon  the  rippling 
water,  and  drink,  and  toss  a coin  far  out  into  the 
middle,  in  offering  to  the  genius  of  the  place,  shall 
surely  come  back  to  Rome  again,  old  or  young,  sooner 
or  later.  Many  have  performed  the  rite,  some  secretly, 
sadly,  heartbroken,  for  love  of  Rome  and  what  it  holds, 
and  others  gayly,  many  together,  laughing,  while  they 


T revi 


57 


half  believe,  and  sometimes  believing  altogether  while 
they  laugh.  And  some  who  loved,  and  could  meet  only 
in  Rome,  have  gone  there  together,  and  women’s  tears 
have  sometimes  dropped  upon  the  silvered  water  that 
reflected  the  sad  faces  of  grave  men. 

The  foremost  memories  of  the  past  in  Trevi  centre 
about  the  ancient  family  of  the  Colonna,  still  numerous, 
distinguished  and  flourishing  after  a career  of  nearly 
a thousand  years  — longer  than  that,  it  may  be,  if  one 
take  into  account  the  traditions  of  them  that  go  back 
beyond  the  earliest  authentic  mention  of  their  great- 
ness ; a race  of  singular  independence  and  energy,  which 
has  given  popes  to  Rome,  and  great  patriots,  and  great 
generals  as  well,  and  neither  least  nor  last,  Vittoria, 
princess  and  poetess,  whose  name  calls  up  the  gentlest 
memories  of  Michelangelo’s  elder  years. 

The  Colonna  were  originally  hill  men.  The  earliest 
record  of  them  tells  that  their  great  lands  towards 
Palestrina  were  confiscated  by  the  Church,  in  the 
eleventh  century.  The  oldest  of  their  titles  is  that  of 
Duke  of  Paliano,  a town  still  belonging  to  them,  rising 
on  an  eminence  out  of  the  plain  beyond  the  Alban 
hills.  The  greatest  of  their  early  fortresses  was  Pales- 
trina, still  the  seat  and  title  estate  of  the  Barberini 
branch  of  the  family.  Their  original  stronghold  in 
Rome  was  almost  on  the  site  of  their  present  palace, 
being  then  situated  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Basilica 
of  the  Santi  Apostoli,  where  the  headquarters  of  the 


158  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

Dominicans  now  are,  and  running  upwards  and  back- 
wards, thence,  to  the  Piazza  della  Pilotta ; but  they  held 
Rome  by  a chain  of  towers  and  fortifications,  from  the 
Quirinal  to  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus,  now  hidden 
among  the  later  buildings,  between  the  Corso,  the 
Tiber,  the  Via  de’  Pontefici  and  the  Via  de’  Schiavoni. 
The  present  palace  and  the  basilica  stood  partly  upon 
the  site  of  the  ancient  quarters  occupied  by  the  first 
Cohort  of  the  Vigiles,  or  city  police,  of  whom  about 
seven  thousand  preserved  order  when  the  population 
of  ancient  Rome  exceeded  two  millions. 

The  ‘column,’  from  which  the  Colonna  take  their 
name,  is  generally  supposed  to  have  stood  in  the  market- 
place of  the  village  of  that  name  in  the  higher  part 
of  the  Campagna,  between  the  Alban  and  the  Samnite 
hills,  on  the  way  to  Palestrina.  It  is  a peaceful  and 
vine-clad  country,  now.  South  of  it  rise  the  low  heights 
of  Tusculum,  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
Colonna  were  originally  descended  from  the  great 
counts  who  tyrannized  over  Rome  from  that  strong 
point  of  vantage  and,  through  them,  from  Theodora 
Senatrix.  Be  that  as  it  may,  their  arms  consist  of  a 
simple  column,  used  on  a shield,  or  as  a crest,  or  as 
the  badge  of  the  family,  and  it  is  found  in  many  a 
threadbare  tapestry,  in  many  a painting,  in  the  fres- 
cos and  carved  ornaments  of  many  a dim  old  church 
in  Rome. 

In  their  history,  the  first  fact  that  stands  out  is  their 


Trevi 


159 


adherence  to  the  Emperors,  as  Ghibellines,  whereas 
their  rivals,  the  Orsini,  were  Guelphs  and  supporters  of 
the  Church  in  most  of  the  great  contests  of  the  Middle 
Age.  The  exceptions  to  the  rule  are  found  when  the 
Colonna  had  a Pope  of  their  own,  or  one  who,  like 
Nicholas  the  Fourth,  was  of  their  own  making.  ‘That 
Pope,’  says  Muratori,  ‘ had  so  boundlessly  favoured  the 
aggrandizement  of  the  Colonna  that  his  actions  de- 
pended entirely  upon  their  dictates,  and  ' a libel  was 
published  upon  him,  entitled  the  Source  of  Evil,  illus- 
trated by  a caricature,  in  which  the  mitred  head  of 
the  Pontiff  was  seen  issuing  from  a tall  column  be- 
tween two  smaller  ones,  the  latter  intended  to  represent 
the  two  living  cardinals  of  the  house,  Jacopo  and 
Pietro.’  Yet  in  the  next  reign,  when  they  impeached 
the  election  of  Boniface  the  Eighth,  they  found  them- 
selves in  opposition  to  the  Holy  See,  and  they  and 
theirs  were  almost  utterly  destroyed  by  the  Pope’s 
partisans  and  kinsmen,  the  powerful  Caetani. 

Just  before  him,  after  the  Holy  See  had  been  vacant 
for  two  years  and  nearly  four  months,  because  the  Con- 
clave of  Perugia  could  not  agree  upon  a Pope,  a humble 
southern  hermit  of  the  Abruzzi,  Pietro  da  Morrone, 
had  been  suddenly  elevated  to  the  Pontificate,  to  his 
own  inexpressible  surprise  and  confusion,  and  after  a 
few  months  of  honest,  but  utterly  fruitless,  effort  to 
understand  and  do  what  was  required  of  him,  he  had 
taken  the  wholly  unprecedented  step  of  abdicating  the 


i6o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


papacy.  He  was  succeeded  by  Benedict  Caetani,  Boni- 
face the  Eighth,  keen,  learned,  brave,  unforgiving 
and  the  mortal  foe  of  the  Colonna;  ‘the  magnani-  * 
mous  sinner,’  as  Gibbon  quotes  from  a chronicle,  ‘ who 
entered  like  a fox,  reigned  like  a lion  and  died  like 
a dog.’  Yet  the  judgment  is  harsh,  for  though  his 
sins  were  great,  the  expiation  was  fearful,  and  he  was 
brave  as  few  men  have  been. 

Samson  slew  a lion  with  his  hands,  and  the  Philistines 
with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass.  Men  have  always  accepted 
the  Bible’s  account  of  the  slaughter.  But  when  an  ass, 
without  the  aid  of  any  Samson,  killed  a lion  in  the  court- 
yard of  the  Palazzo  dei  Priori,  in  Florence,  the  event 
was  looked  upon  as  of  evil  portent,  exceeding  the  laws 
of  nature.  For  Pope  Boniface  had  presented  the  Com- 
monwealth of  Florence  with  a young  and  handsome  lion, 
which  was  chained  up  and  kept  in  the  court  of  the 
palace  aforesaid.  A donkey  laden  with  firewood  was 
driven  in,  and  ‘ either  from  fear,  or  by  a miracle,’  as  the 
chronicle  says,  at  once  assailed  the  lion  with  the  utmost 
ferocity,  and  kicked  him  to  death,  in  spite  of  the  efforts 
of  a number  of  men  to  drag  the  beast  of  burden  off. 
Of  the  two  hypotheses,  the  wise  men  of  the  day  pre- 
ferred the  supernatural  explanation,  and  one  of  them 
found  an  ancient  Sibylline  prophecy  to  the  effect  that 
‘ when  the  tame  beast  should  kill  the  king  of  beasts,  the 
dissolution  of  the  Church  should  begin.’  Which  saying, 
adds  Villani,  was  presently  fulfilled  in  Pope  Boniface. 


/ 


Trevi 


161 


For  the  Pope  had  a mortal  quarrel  with  Philip  the 
Fair  of  France  whom  he  had  promised  to  make  Em- 
peror, and  had  then  passed  over  in  favour  of  Albert, 
son  of  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg ; and  Philip  made  a 
friend  and  ally  of  Stephen  Colonna,  the  head  of  the 
great  house,  who  was  then  in  France,  and  drove  Boni- 
face’s legate  out  of  his  kingdom,  and  allowed  the  Count 
of  Artois  to  burn  the  papal  letters.  The  Pope  retorted 
by  a Major  Excommunication,  and  the  quarrel  became 
furious.  The  Colonna  being  under  his  hand,  Boniface 
vented  his  anger  upon  them,  drove  them  from  Rome, 
destroyed  their  houses,  levelled  Palestrina  to  the  ground, 
and  ploughed  up  the  land  where  it  had  stood.  The 
six  brothers  of  the  house  were  exiles  and  wanderers. 
Old  Stephen,  the  idol  of  Petrarch,  alone  and  wretched, 
was  surrounded  by  highwaymen,  who  asked  who  he  was. 
‘Stephen  Colonna,’  he  answered,  ‘a  Roman  citizen.’ 
And  the  thieves  fell  back  at  the  sound  of  the  great 
name.  Again,  someone  asked  him  with  a sneer  where 
all  his  strongholds  were,  since  Palestrina  was  gone. 
‘ Here,’  he  answered,  unmoved,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  heart.  Of  such  stuff  were  the  Pope’s  enemies. 

Nor  could  he  crush  them.  Boniface  was  of  Anagni, 
a city  of  prehistoric  walls  and  ancient  memories  which 
belonged  to  the  Caetani;  and  there,  in  the  late  sum- 
mer, he  was  sojourning  for  rest  and  country  air,  with 
his  cardinals  and  his  court  and  his  kinsmen  about  him. 
Among  the  cardinals  was  Napoleon  Orsini. 


VOL. 


M 


162 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


GRAND  HALL  OF  THE  COLONNA  PALACE 


Then  came  William  of  Nogaret,  sent  by  the  King  of 
France,  and  Sciarra  Colonna,  the  boldest  man  of  his 
day,  and  many  other  nobles,  with  three  hundred  knights 
and  many  footmen.  For  a long  time  they  had  secretly 
plotted  a master-stroke  of  violence,  spending  money 
freely  among  the  people,  and  using  all  persuasion  to 
bring  the  country  to  their  side,  yet  with  such  skill  and 
caution  that  not  the  slightest  warning  reached  the 


Trevi 


163 

Pope’s  ears.  In  calm  security  he  rose  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  seventh  of  September.  He  believed 
his  position  assured,  his  friends  loyal  and  the  Colonna 
ruined  for  ever ; and  Colonna  was  at  the  gate. 

Suddenly,  from  below  the  walls,  a cry  of  words  came 
up  to  the  palace  windows ; long  drawn  out,  distinct  in 
the  still  mountain  air.  ‘ Long  live  the  King  of  France ! 
Death  to  Pope  Boniface ! ’ It  was  taken  up  by  hun- 
dreds of  voices,  and  repeated,  loud,  long  and  terrible, 
by  the  people  of  the  town,  by  men  going  out  to  their 
work  in  the  hills,  by  women  loitering  on  their  door- 
steps, by  children  peering  out,  half  frightened,  from 
behind  their  mothers’  scarlet  woollen  skirts,  to  see  the 
armed  men  ride  up  the  stony  way.  Cardinals,  cham- 
berlains, secretaries,  men-at-arms,  fled  like  sheep ; and 
when  Colonna  reached  the  palace  wall,  only  the  Pope’s 
own  kinsmen  remained  within  to  help  him  as  they 
could,  barring  the  great  doors  and  posting  themselves 
with  crossbows  at  the  grated  window.  For  the  Caetani 
were  always  brave  men. 

But  Boniface  knew  that  he  was  lost,  and  calmly, 
courageously,  even  grandly,  he  prepared  to  face  death. 
‘ Since  I am  betrayed,’  he  said,  ‘ and  am  to  die,  I 
will  at  least  die  as  a Pope  should ! ’ So  he  put  on 
the  great  pontifical  chasuble,  and  set  the  tiara  of 
Constantine  upon  his  head,  and,  taking  the  keys  and 
the  crosier  in  his  hands,  sat  down  on  the  papal 
throne  to  await  death. 


164 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


The  palace  gates  were  broken  down,  and  then  there 
was  no  more  resistance,  for  the  defenders  were  few. 
In  a moment  Colonna  in  his  armour  stood  before  the 
Pontiff  in  his  robes ; but  he  saw  only  the  enemy  of  his 
race,  who  had  driven  out  his  great  kinsmen,  beggars 
and  wanderers  on  the  earth,  and  he  lifted  his  visor  and 
looked  long  at  his  victim,  and  then  at  last  found  words 
for  his  wrath,  and  bitter  reproaches  and  taunts  without 
end  and  savage  curses  in  the  broad-spoken  Roman 
tongue.  And  William  of  Nogaret  began  to  speak,  too, 
and  threatened  to  take  Boniface  to  Lyons  where  a 
council  of  the  Church  should  depose  him  and  condemn 
him  to  ignominy.  Boniface  answered  that  he  should 
expect  nothing  better  than  to  be  deposed  and  con- 
demned by  a man  whose  father  and  mother  had  been 
publicly  burned  for  their  crimes.  And  this  was  true  of 
Nogaret,  who  was  no  gentleman.  A legend  says  that 
Colonna  struck  the  Pope  in  the  face,  and  that  he  after- 
wards made  him  ride  on  an  ass,  sitting  backwards,  after 
the  manner  of  the  times.  But  no  trustworthy  chronicle 
tells  of  this.  On  the  contrary,  no  one  laid  hands  upon 
him  while  he  was  kept  a prisoner  under  strict  watch 
for  three  days,  refusing  to  touch  food ; for  even  if  he 
could  have  eaten  he  feared  poison.  And  Colonna 
tried  to  force  him  to  abdicate,  as  Pope  Celestin  had 
done  before  him,  but  he  refused  stoutly;  and  when 
the  three  days  were  over,  Colonna  went  away,  driven 
out,  some  say,  by  the  people  of  Anagni  who  turned 


/ 


Trevi 


165 

against  him.  But  that  is  absurd,  for  Anagni  is  a little 
place  and  Colonna  had  a strong  force  of  good  soldiers 
with  him.  Possibly,  seeing  that  the  old  man  refused 
to  eat,  Sciarra  feared  lest  he  should  be  said  to  have 
starved  the  Pope  to  death.  They  went  away  and  left 
him,  carrying  off  his  treasures  with  them,  and  he  re- 
turned to  Rome,  half  mad  with  anger,  and  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  Orsini  cardinals,  who  judged  him  not 
sane  and  kept  him  a prisoner  at  the  Vatican,  where 
he  died  soon  afterwards,  consumed  by  his  wrath.  And 
before  long  the  Colonna  had  their  own  again  and  re- 
built Palestrina  and  their  palace  in  Rome. 

Twenty-five  years  later  they  were  divided  against 
each  other,  in  the  wild  days  when  Lewis  the  Bavarian, 
excommunicated  and  at  war  with  the  Pope,  was 
crowned  and  consecrated  Emperor,  by  the  efforts  of  an 
extraordinary  man  of  genius,  Castruccio  degli  Inter- 
minelli,  known  better  as  Castruccio  Castracane,  the 
Ghibelline  lord  of  Lucca  who  made  Italy  ring  with  his 
deeds  for  twenty  years,  and  died  of  a fever,  in  the 
height  of  his  success  and  glory,  at  the  age  of  forty- 
seven  years.  Sciarra  Colonna  was  for  him  and  for 
Lewis.  Stephen,  head  of  the  house,  was  against  them, 
and  in  those  days  when  Rome  was  frantic  for  an  Em- 
peror, Stephen’s  son  Jacopo  had  the  quiet  courage  to 
bring  out  the  Bull  of  Excommunication  against  the 
chosen  Emperor  and  nail  it  to  the  door  of  San  Mar- 
cello, in  the  Corso,  in  the  heart  of  Rome  and  in  the 


i66 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


sight  of  a thousand  angry  men,  in  protest  against 
what  they  meant  to  do  — against  what  was  doing  even 
at  that  moment.  And  he  reached  Palestrina  in  safety 
shaking  the  dust  of  Rome  from  his  feet. 

But  on  that  bright  winter’s  day,  Lewis  of  Bavaria 
and  his  queen  rode  down  from  Santa  Maria  Maggiore 
by  the  long  and  winding  ways  towards  Saint  Peter’s. 
The  streets  were  all  swept  and  strewn  with  yellow  sand 
and  box  leaves  and  myrtle  that  made  the  air  fragrant, 
and  from  every  window  and  balcony  gorgeous  silks  and 
tapestries  were  hung,  and  even  ornaments  of  gold  and 
silver  and  jewels.  Before  the  procession  rode  standard- 
bearers,  four  for  each  Region,  on  horses  most  richly 
caparisoned.  There  rode  Sciarra  Colonna,  and  beside 
him,  for  once  in  history,  Orsino  Orsini,  and  others,  all 
dressed  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  Castruccio  Castracane, 
wearing  that  famous  sword  which  in  our  own  times  was 
offered  by  Italy  to  King  Victor  Emmanuel ; and  many 
other  Barons  rode  there  in  splendid  array,  and  there 
was  great  concourse  of  the  people.  So  they  came  to 
Saint  Peter’s;  and  because  the  Count  of  the  Lateran 
should  by  right  have  been  the  Emperor’s  sponsor  at 
the  anointing,  and  had  left  Rome  in  anger  and  disdain, 
Lewis  made  Castruccio  a knight  of  the  Empire  and 
Count  of  the  Lateran  in  his  stead,  and  sponsor;  and 
two  excommunicated  Bishops  consecrated  the  Emperor, 
and  anointed  him,  and  Sciarra  Colonna  crowned  him 
and  his  queen.  After  which  they  feasted  in  the  even- 


/ 


Trevi 


167 


ing  at  the  Aracoeli,  and  slept  in  the  Capitol,  because 
they  were  all  weary  with  the  long  ceremony,  and  it 
was  too  late  to  go  home.  The  chronicler’s  comment 
is  curious.  ‘Note,’  he  says,  ‘what  presumption  was 
this,  of  the  aforesaid  damned  Bavarian,  such  as  thou 
shalt  not  find  in  any  ancient  or  recent  history ; for 
never  did  any  Christian  Emperor  cause  himself  to  be 
crowned  save  by  the  Pope  or  his  legate,  even  though 
opposed  to  the  Church,  neither  before  then  nor  since, 
except  this  Bavarian.’  But  Sciarra  and  Castruccio  had 
their  way,  and  Lewis  did  what  even  Napoleon,  master 
of  the  world  by  violent  chance,  would  not  do.  And 
twenty  years  later,  in  the  same  chronicle,  it  is  told  how 
‘ Lewis  of  Bavaria,  who  called  himself  Emperor,  fell 
with  his  horse,  and  was  killed  suddenly,  without  peni- 
tence, excommunicated  and  damned  by  Holy  Church.’ 
It  is  a curious  coincidence  that  Boniface  the  Eighth, 
Sciarra’s  prisoner,  and  Lewis  the  Bavarian,  whom  he 
crowned  Emperor,  both  died  on  the  eleventh  of  October, 
according  to  most  authorities. 

The  Senate  of  Rome  had  dwindled  to  a pitiable  office, 
held  by  one  man.  At  or  about  this  time,  the  Colonna 
and  the  Orsini  agreed  by  a compromise  that  there 
should  be  two,  chosen  from  their  two  houses.  The 
Popes  were  in  Avignon,  and  men  who  could  make 
Emperors  were  more  than  able  to  do  as  they  pleased 
with  a town  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  inhabitants,  so 
long  as  the  latter  had  no  leader.  One  may  judge  of 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


1 68 

what  Rome  was,  when  even  pilgrims  did  not  dare  to  go 
thither  and  visit  the  tomb  of  Saint  Peter.  The  discord 
of  the  great  houses  made  Rienzi’s  life  a career;  the 
defection  of  the  Orsini  from  the  Pope’s  party  led  to 
his  flight;  their  battles  suggested  to  the  exiled  Pope 
the  idea  of  sending  him  back  to  Rome  to  break  their 
power  and  restore  a republic  by  which  the  Pope  might 
restore  himself ; and  the  rage  of  their  retainers  ex- 
pended itself  in  his  violent  death.  For  it  was  their 
retainers  who  fought  for  their  masters,  till  the  younger 
Stephen  Colonna  killed  Bertoldo  Orsini,  the  bravest 
man  of  his  day,  in  an  ambush,  and  the  Orsini  basely 
murdered  a boy  of  the  Colonna  on  the  steps  of  a 
church.  But  Rienzi  was  of  another  Region,  of  the 
Regola  by  the  Tiber,  and  it  is  not  yet  time  to  tell  his 
story.  And  by  and  by,  as  the  power  of  the  Popes 
rose  and  they  became  again  as  the  Caesars  had  been, 
Colonna  and  Orsini  forgot  their  feuds,  and  were  glad 
to  stand  on  the  Pope’s  right  and  left  as  hereditary 
‘Assistants  of  the  Holy  See.’  In  the  petty  ending  of 
all  old  greatnesses  in  modern  times,  the  result  of  the 
greatest  feud  that  ever  made  two  races  mortal  foes 
is  merely  that  no  prudent  host  dare  ask  the  heads  of 
the  two  houses  to  dinner  together,  lest  a question  of 
precedence  should  arise,  such  as  no  master  of  cere- 
monies would  presume  to  settle.  That  is  what  it  has 
come  to.  Once  upon  a time  an  Orsini  quarrelled  with  a 
Colonna  in  the  Corso,  just  where  Aragno’s  cafe  is  now 


/ 


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169 


situated,  and  ran  him  through  with  his  rapier,  wounding 
him  almost  to  death.  He  was  carried  into  the  palace 
of  the  Theodoli,  close  by,  and  the  records  of  that  family 
tell  that  within  the  hour  eight  hundred  of  the  Colonna’s 
retainers  were  in  the  house  to  guard  him.  In  as  short 
space,  the  Orsini  called  out  three  thousand  men  in  arms, 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  MAUSOLEUM  OF  AUGUSTUS 
From  a print  of  the  last  century 


when  Caesar  Borgia’s  henchman  claimed  the  payment 
of  a tax. 

Times  have  changed  since  then.  The  Mausoleum  of 
Augustus,  once  a fortress,  has  been  an  open  air  theatre 
in  our  time,  and  there  the  great  Salvini  and  Ristori  often 
acted  in  their  early  youth ; it  is  a circus  now.  And  in 
less  violent  contrast,  but  with  change  as  great  from 
what  it  was,  the  palace  of  the  Colonna  suggests  no 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


170 

thought  of  defence  nowadays,  and  the  wide  gates  and 
courtyard  recall  rather  the  splendours  of  the  Constable 
and  of  his  wife,  Maria  Mancini,  niece  of  Cardinal  Maz- 
arin,  than  the  fiercer  days  when  Castracane  was  Sci- 
arra’s  guest  on  the  other  side  of  the  church. 

The  Basilica  of  the  Apostles  is  said  to  have  been  built 
by  Pelagius  the  First,  who  was  made  Pope  in  the  year 
555,  and  who  dedicated  it  to  Saint  Philip  and  Saint 
James.  Recent  advances  in  the  study  of  archaeology 
make  it  seem  more  than  probable  that  he  adapted  for 
the  purpose  a part  of  the  ancient  barracks  of  the 
Vigiles,  of  which  the  central  portion  appears  almost 
to  coincide  with  the  present  church,  at  a somewhat 
different  angle;  and  in  the  same  way  it  is  likely  that 
the  remains  of  the  north  wing  were  rebuilt  at  a later 
period  by  the  Colonna  as  a fortified  palace.  In  those 
times  men  would  not  have  neglected  to  utilize  the 
massive  substructures  and  walls.  However  that  may 
be,  the  Colonna  dwelt  there  at  a very  early  date,  and 
in  eight  hundred  years  or  more  have  only  removed 
their  headquarters  from  one  side  of  the  church  to  the 
other.  The  latter  has  been  changed  and  rebuilt,  and 
altered  again,  like  most  of  the  great  Roman  sanctu- 
aries, till  it  bears  no  resemblance  to  the  original  build- 
ing. The  present  church  is  distinctly  ugly,  with  the 
worst  defects  of  the  early  eighteenth  century ; and 
that  age  was  as  deficient  in  cultivated  taste  as  it  was 
abhorrent  of  natural  beauty.  Some  fragments  of  the 


Trevi 


171 


original  frescos  that  adorned  the  apse  are  now  pre- 
served in  a hall  behind  the  main  Sacristy  of  Saint 
Peter’s.  Against  the  flat  walls,  under  the  inquisition 
of  the  crudest  daylight,  the  fragments  of  Melozzo  da 
Forli’s  masterpiece  are  masterpieces  still ; the  angelic 
faces,  imprisoned  in  a place  not  theirs,  reflect  the  sad- 


ness of  art’s  captivity  ; and  the  irretrievable  destruction 
of  an  inimitable  past  excites  the  pity  and  resentment 
of  thoughtful  men.  The  attempt  to  outdo  the  works  of 
the  great  has  exhibited  the  contemptible  imbecility 
of  the  little,  and  the  coarse-grained  vanity  of  Clement 
the  Eleventh  has  parodied  the  poetry  of  art  in  the 
bombastic  prose  of  a vulgar  tongue.  Pope  Pelagius 


172 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


took  for  his  church  the  pillars  and  marbles  of  Tra- 
jan’s Forum,  in  the  belief  that  his  acts  were  accept- 
able to  God ; but  Clement  had  no  such  excuse,  and  the 
edifice  which  was  a monument  of  faith  has  given  place 
to  the  temple  of  a monumental  vanity. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  Colonna  rarely  laid  their 
dead  in  the  Church  of  the  Apostles,  for  it  was  vir- 
tually theirs  by  right  of  immediate  neighbourhood, 
and  during  their  domination  they  could  easily  have 
assumed  actual  possession  of  it  as  a private  property. 
A very  curious  custom,  which  survived  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  perhaps  much  later,  bears  witness 
to  the  close  connection  between  their  family  and  the 
church.  At  that  time  a gallery  existed,  accessible 
from  the  palace  and  looking  down  into  the  basilica, 
so  that  the  family  could  assist  at  Mass  without  leav- 
ing their  dwelling. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  May,  which  is  the 
traditional  feast  of  this  church,  the  poor  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood assembled  within.  The  windows  of  the 
palace  gallery  were  then  thrown  open  and  a great 
number  of  fat  fowls  were  thrown  alive  to  the  crowd, 
turkeys,  geese  and  the  like,  to  flutter  down  to  the 
pavement  and  be  caught  by  the  luckiest  of  the  people 
in  a tumultuous  scramble.  When  this  was  over,  a 
young  pig  was  swung  out  and  lowered  in  slings  by  a 
purchase  of  which  the  block  was  seized  to  a roof 
beam.  When  just  out  of  reach  the  rope  was  made 


Trevi 


173 


fast,  and  the  most  active  of  the  men  jumped  for  the 
animal  from  below,  till  one  was  fortunate  enough  to 
catch  it  with  his  hands,  when  the  rope  was  let  go, 
and  he  carried  off  the  prize.  The  custom  was  evi- 
dently similar  to  that  of  climbing  the  May-pole,  which 
was  set  up  on  the  same  day  in  the  Campo  Vaccino. 
May-day  was  one  of  the  oldest  festivals  of  the  Romans, 
for  it  was  sacred  to  the  tutelary  Lares,  or  spirits  of 
ancestors,  and  was  kept  holy,  both  publicly  by  the 
whole  city  as  the  habitation  of  the  Roman  people,  and 
by  each  family  in  its  private  dwelling.  It  is  of  Aryan 
origin  and  is  remembered  in  one  way  or  another  by 
all  Aryan  races  in  our  own  time,  and  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  in  the  general  conversion  of  Paganism  to 
Christianity  a new  feast  should  have  been  intention- 
ally made  to  coincide  with  an  old  one;  but  it  is  hard 
to  understand  the  lack  of  all  reverence  for  sacred 
places  which  could  admit  such  a scene  as  the  scram- 
bling for  live  fowls  and  pigs  in  honour  of  the  twelve 
Apostles,  a pious  exercise  which  is  perhaps  paral- 
leled, though  assuredly  not  equalled,  in  crudeness,  by 
the  old  Highland  custom  of  smoking  tobacco  in  kirk 
throughout  the  sermon. 

At  the  very  time  when  we  have  historical  record 
of  a Pope’s  presence  as  an  amused  spectator  of  the 
proceedings,  Michelangelo  had  lately  painted  the 
ceiling  of  the  Sixtine  chapel,  and  had  not  yet  begun 
his  Last  Judgment;  and  ‘Diva’  Vittoria  Colonna,  not 


174 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


yet  the  friend  of  his  later  years,  was  perhaps  even 
then  composing  those  strangely  passionate  spiritual 
sonnets  which  appeal  to  the  soul  through  the  heart,  by 
the  womanly  pride  that  strove  to  make  the  heart  sub- 
ject to  the  soul. 

The  commonplace  romance  which  has  represented 
Vittoria  Colonna  and  Michelangelo  as  in  love  with 
each  other  is  as  unworthy  of  both  as  it  is  wholly 
without  foundation.  They  first  met  nine  years  before 
her  death,  when  she  was  almost  fifty  and  he  was 
already  sixty-four.  She  had  then  been  widowed 
twelve  years,  and  it  was  long  since  she  had  refused 
in  Naples  the  princely  suitors  who  made  overtures 
for  her  hand.  The  true  romance  of  her  life  was 
simpler,  nobler  and  more  enduring,  for  it  began  when 
she  was  a child,  and  it  ended  when  she  breathed  her 
last  in  the  house  of  Giuliano  Cesarini,  the  kinsman 
of  her  people,  whose  descendant  married  her  name- 
sake in  our  own  time. 

At  the  age  of  four,  Vittoria  was  formally  be- 
trothed to  Francesco  d’ Avalos,  heir  of  Pescara,  one 
of  that  fated  race  whose  family  history  has  furnished 
matter  for  more  than  one  stirring  tale.  Vittoria  was 
born  in  Marino,  the  Roman  town  and  duchy  which  still 
gives  its  title  to  Prince  Colonna’s  eldest  son,  and  she 
was  brought  up  in  Rome  and  Naples,  of  which  latter 
city  her  father  was  Grand  Constable.  Long  before 
she  was  married,  she  saw  her  future  husband  and 


/ 


Trevi 


175 


loved  him  at  first  sight,  as  she  loved  him  to  her  dying 
day,  so  that  although  even  greater  offers  were  made 
for  her,  she  steadfastly  refused  to  marry  any  other 
man.  They  were  united  when  she  was  seventeen 
years  old,  he  loved  ner  devotedly,  and  they  spent 
many  months  together  almost  without  other  society  in 
the  island  of  Ischia.  The  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth 
was  fighting  his  lifelong  fight  with  Francis  the  First 
of  France.  Colonna  and  Pescara  were  for  the  Empire, 
and  Francesco  d’ Avalos  joined  the  imperial  army ; 
he  was  taken  prisoner  at  Ravenna  and  carried  cap- 
tive to  France;  released,  he  again  fought  for  Charles, 
who  offered  him  the  crown  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples; 
but  he  refused  it,  and  still  he  fought  on,  to  fall  at  last 
at  Pavia,  in  the  strength  of  his  mature  manhood,  and  to 
die  of  his  wounds  in  Milan  when  Vittoria  was  barely 
five  and  thirty  years  of  age,  still  young,  surpassingly 
beautiful,  and  gifted  as  few  women  have  ever  been. 
What  their  love  was,  their  long  correspondence  tells, — 
a love  passionate  as  youth  and  enduring  as  age,  mutual, 
whole  and  faithful.  For  many  years  the  heartbroken 
woman  lived  in  Naples,  where  she  had  been  most 
happy,  feeding  her  soul  with  fire  and  tears.  At  last 
she  returned  to  Rome,  to  her  own  people,  in  her 
forty-ninth  year.  There  she  was  visited  by  the  old 
Emperor  for  whom  her  husband  had  given  his  life, 
and  there  she  met  Michelangelo. 

It  was  natural  enough  that  they  should  be  friends. 


176 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


It  is  monstrous  to  suppose  them  lovers.  The  melan- 
choly of  their  natures  drew  them  together,  and  the 
sympathy  of  their  tastes  cemented  the  bond.  To  the 
woman-hating  man  of  genius,  this  woman  was  a revela- 
tion and  a wonder;  to  the  great  princess  in  her  per- 
petual sorrow  the  greatest  of  creative  minds  was  a 
solace  and  a constant  intellectual  delight.  Their  friend- 
ship was  mutual,  fitting  and  beautiful,  which  last  is 
more  than  can  be  said  for  the  absurd  stories  about  their 
intercourse  which  are  extant  in  print  and  have  been 
made  the  subject  of  imaginary  pictures  by  more  than  one 
painter.  The  tradition  that  they  used  to  meet  often  in 
the  little  Church  of  Saint  Sylvester,  behind  the  Colonna 
gardens,  rests  upon  the  fact  that  they  once  held  a con- 
sultation there  in  the  presence  of  Francesco  d’Olanda, 
a Portuguese  artist,  when  Vittoria  was  planning  the 
Convent  of  Saint  Catherine,  which  she  afterwards  built 
not  very  far  away.  The  truth  is  that  she  did  not  live  in 
the  palace  of  her  kinsfolk  after  her  return  to  Rome,  but 
most  probably  in  the  convent  attached  to  the  other  and 
greater  Church  of  Saint  Sylvester  which  stands  in  the 
square  of  that  name  not  far  from  the  Corso.  The 
convent  itself  is  said  to  have  been  originally  built  for 
the  ladies  of  the  Colonna  who  took  the  veil,  and  was 
only  recently  destroyed  to  make  room  for  the  modern 
Post-office,  the  church  itself  having  passed  into  the 
hands  of  the  English.  The  coincidence  of  the  two 
churches  being  dedicated  to  the  same  saint  doubtless 


/ 


Trevi 


177 


helped  the  growth  of  the  unjust  fable.  But  in  an  age 
of  great  women,  in  the  times  of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  great 
and  bad,  of  Catherine  Sforza,  great  and  warlike,  Vit- 
toria  Colonna  was  great  and  good ; and  the  ascetic 
Michelangelo,  discovering  in  her  the  realization  of  an 
ideal,  laid  at  her  feet  the  homage  of  a sexagenarian’s 
friendship. 

In  the  battle  of  the  archaeologists  the  opposing  forces 
traverse  and  break  ground,  and  rush  upon  each  other 
again,  ‘ hurtling  together  like  wild  boars,’  — as  Mallory 
describes  the  duels  of  his  knights,  — and  when  learned 
doctors  disagree  it  is  not  the  province  of  a searcher 
after  romance  to  attempt  a definition  of  exact  truths. 
‘Some  romances  entertain  the  genius,’  quotes  Johnson, 

‘ and  strengthen  it  by  the  noble  ideas  which  they  give 
of  things ; but  they  corrupt  the  truth  of  history.’ 

Professor  Lanciani,  who  is  probably  the  greatest 
authority,  living  or  dead,  on  Roman  antiquities,  places 
the  site  of  the  temple  of  the  Sun  in  the  Colonna  gar- 
dens, and  another  writer  compares  the  latter  to  the 
hanging  gardens  of  Babylon,  supported  entirely  on 
ancient  arches  and  substructures  rising  high  above  the 
natural  soil  below.  But  before  Aurelian  erected  the 
splendid  building  to  record  his  conquest  of  Palmyra, 
the  same  spot  was  the  site  of  the  ‘ Little  Senate,’  insti- 
tuted by  Elagabalus  in  mirthful  humour,  between  an 
attack  of  sacrilegious  folly  and  a fit  of  cruelty. 

The  ‘ Little  Senate  ’ was  a woman’s  senate ; in  other 


VOL. 


N 


1 78 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


words,  it  was  a regular  assembly  of  the  fashionable 
Roman  matrons  of  the  day,  who  met  there  in  hours  of 
idleness  under  the  presidency  of  the  Emperor’s  mother, 
Semiamira.  Aelius  Lampridius,  quoted  by  Baracconi, 
has  a passage  about  it.  ‘ From  this  Senate,’  he  says, 
‘ issued  the  absurd  laws  for  the  matrons,  entitled 
Semiamiran  Senatorial  Decrees,  which  determined  for 
each  matron  how  she  might  dress,  to  whom  she  must 
yield  precedence,  by  whom  she  might  be  kissed,  decid- 
ing which  ladies  might  drive  in  chariots,  and  which  in 
carts,  and  whether  the  latter  should  be  drawn  by  capari- 
soned horses,  or  by  asses,  or  by  mules,  or  oxen ; who 
should  be  allowed  to  be  carried  in  a litter  or  a chair, 
which  might  be  of  leather  or  of  bone  with  fittings  of 
ivory  or  of  silver,  as  the  case  might  be ; and  it  was 
even  determined  which  ladies  might  wear  shoes 
adorned  only  with  gold,  and  which  might  have  gems 
set  in  their  boots.’  Considering  how  little  human 
nature  has  changed  in  eighteen  hundred  years  it  is 
easy  enough  to  imagine  what  the  debates  in  the  ‘ Little 
Senate  ’ must  have  been  with  Semiamira  in  the  chair 
ruling  everything  ‘ out  of  order  ’ which  did  not  please 
her  capricious  fancy : the  shrill  discussions  about  a 
fashionable  head-dress,  the  whispered  intrigues  for  a 
jewel-studded  slipper,  the  stormy  divisions  on  the  ques- 
tion of  gold  hairpins,  and  the  atmosphere  of  beauty, 
perfumes,  gossip,  vanity  and  all  feminine  dissension. 
But  the  ‘ Little  Senate  ’ was  shortlived. 


Trevi 


179 


Some  fifty  years  after  Elagabalus,  Aurelian  triumphed 
over  Zenobia  of  Palmyra,  and  built  his  temple  of  the  Sun. 
That  triumph  was  the  finest  sight,  perhaps,  ever  seen 
in  imperial  Rome.  Twenty  richly  caparisoned  elephants 
and  two  hundred  captive  wild  beasts  led  the  immense 
procession  ; eight  hundred  pairs  of  gladiators  came  next, 
the  glory  and  strength  of  fighting  manhood,  with  all 
their  gleaming  arms  and  accoutrements,  marching  by 
the  huge  Flavian  Amphitheatre,  where  sooner  or  later 
they  must  fight  each  other  to  the  death ; then  countless 
captives  of  the  East  and  South  and  West  and  North, 
Syrian  nobles,  Gothic  warriors,  Persian  dignitaries 
beside  Frankish  chieftains,  and  Tetricus,  the  great 
Gallic  usurper,  in  the  attire  of  his  nation,  with  his 
young  son  whom  he  had  dared  to  make  a Senator  in 
defiance  of  the  Empire.  Three  royal  equipages  fol- 
lowed, rich  with  silver,  gold  and  precious  stones,  one  of 
them  Zenobia’s  own,  and  she  herself  seated  therein, 
young,  beautiful,  proud  and  vanquished,  loaded  from 
head  to  foot  with  gems,  most  bitterly  against  her  will, 
her  hands  and  feet  bound  with  a golden  chain,  and  about 
her  neck  another,  long  and  heavy,  of  which  the  end  was 
held  by  a Persian  captive  who  walked  beside  the 
chariot  and  seemed  to  lead  her.  Then  Aurelian,  the 
untiring  conqueror,  in  the  car  of  the  Gothic  king, 
drawn  by  four  great  stags,  which  he  himself  was  to 
sacrifice  to  Jove  that  day  according  to  his  vow,  and  a 
long  line  of  wagons  loaded  down  and  groaning  under 


1 80 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  weight  of  the  vast  spoil ; the  Roman  army,  horse 
and  foot,  the  Senate  and  the  people,  a million,  perhaps, 
all  following  the  indescribable  magnificence  of  the 
great  triumph,  along  the  Sacred  Way,  that  was  yellow 
with  fresh  strewn  sand  and  sweet  with  box  and  myrtle. 

But  when  it  was  over,  Aurelian,  who  was  generous 
when  he  was  not  violent,  honoured  Zenobia  and  en- 


RUINS  OF  HADRIAN'S  VILLA  AT  TIVOLI 


dowed  her  with  great  fortune,  and  she  lived  for  many 
years  as  a Roman  Matron  in  Hadrian’s  villa  at  Tivoli. 
And  the  Emperor  made  light  of  the  ‘ Little  Senate  ’ and 
built  his  Sun  temple  on  the  spot,  with  singular  magnifi- 
cence, enriching  its  decoration  with  pearls  and  precious 
stones  and  with  fifteen  thousand  pounds  in  weight  of 
pure  gold.  Much  of  that  temple  was  still  standing  in 


/ 


Trevi 


181 


the  seventeenth  century  and  was  destroyed  by  Urban 
the  Eighth,  the  Pope  who  built  the  heavy  round  tower 
on  the  south  side  of  the  Quirinal  palace,  facing  Monte 
Cavallo. 

Monte  Cavallo  itself  was  a part  of  the  Colonna  villa, 
and  its  name,  only  recently  changed  to  Piazza  del 
Quirinale,  was  given  to  it  by  the  great  horses  that  stand 
on  each  side  of  the  fountain,  and  which  were  found 
long  ago,  according  to  tradition,  between  the  Palazzo 
Rospigliosi  and  the  Palazzo  della  Consulta.  In  the 
times  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth,  they  were  in  a pitiable  state, 
their  forelegs  and  tails  gone,  their  necks  broken,  their 
heads  propped  up  by  bits  of  masonry.  When  he 
finished  the  Quirinal  palace  he  restored  them  and  set 
them  up,  side  by  side,  before  the  entrance,  and  when 
Pius  the  Sixth  changed  their  position  and  turned  them 
round,  the  ever  conservative  and  ever  discontented 
Roman  people  were  disgusted  by  the  change.  On  the 
pedestal  of  one  of  them  are  the  words,  ‘ Opus  Phidiae,’ 
‘ the  work  of  Phidias.’  A punning  placard  was  at  once 
stuck  upon  the  inscription  with  the  legend,  ‘ Opus  Per- 
fidiae  Pii  Sexti  ’ — ‘ the  work  of  perfidy  of  Pius  the 
Sixth.’ 

The  Quirinal  palace  cannot  be  said  to  have  played  a 
part  in  the  history  of  Rome.  Its  existence  is  largely 
due  to  the  common  sense  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth,  and  to 
his  love  of  good  air.  He  was  a shepherd  by  birth,  and 
it  is  recorded  that  the  first  of  his  bitter  disappointments 


182 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


was  that  the  farmer  whom  he  served  set  him  to  feed 
the  pigs  because  he  could  not  learn  how  to  drive  sheep 
to  pasture ; a disgrace  which  ultimately  made  him  run 
away,  when  he  fell  in  with  a monk  whose  face  he  liked. 
He  informed  the  astonished  father  that  he  meant  to 
follow  him  everywhere,  ‘to  Hell,  if  he  chose,’  — which 
was  a forcible  if  not  a pious  resolution,  — and  explained 
that  the  pigs  would  find  their  way  home  alone.  Later, 
when  he  had  quarrelled  with  all  the  monks  in  Naples, 
including  his  superiors,  he  came  to  Rome,  and,  being 
by  that  time  very  learned,  he  was  employed  to  expound 
the  ‘Formalities’  of  Scotus  to  the  ‘Signor’  Marcan- 
tonio  Colonna,  abbot  of  the  Monastery  of  the  Apostles ; 
and  there  he  resided  as  a guest  for  a long  time  till  his 
brilliant  pupil  was  himself  master  of  the  subject,  as 
well  as  a firm  friend  of  the  quarrelsome  monk ; and  in 
their  intercourse  the  seeds  were  no  doubt  sown  of  that 
implacable  hatred  against  the  Orsini  which,  under  the 
great  and  just  provocation  of  a kinsman’s  murder, 
ended  in  the  exile  and  temporary  ruin  of  the  Colonna’s 
rivals.  No  doubt,  also,  the  abbot  and  the  monk  often 
strolled  together  in  the  Colonna  gardens,  and  the  future 
Pope  breathed  the  high  air  of  the  Quirinal  hill  with  a 
sense  of  relief,  and  dreamed  of  living  up  there,  far 
above  the  city,  literally  in  an  atmosphere  of  his  own. 
Therefore,  when  he  was  Pope,  he  made  the  great 
palace  that  crowns  the  eminence,  completing  and  ex- 
tending a much  smaller  building  planned  by  the  wise 


/ 


Trevi 


183 


Gregory  the  Thirteenth,  and  ever  since  then,  until 
1870,  the  Popes  lived  there  during  some  part  of  the 
year.  It  is  modern,  as  age  is  reckoned  in  Rome,  and  it 
has  modern  associations  in  the  memory  of  living  men. 

It  was  from  the  great  balcony  of  the  Quirinal  that 
Pius  the  Ninth  pronounced  his  famous  benediction  to 
an  enthusiatic  and  patriotic  multitude  in  1846.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  a month  after  his  election,  Pius 
proclaimed  a general  amnesty  in  favour  of  all  persons 
imprisoned  for  political  crimes,  and  a decree  by  which 
all  criminal  prosecutions  for  political  offences  should  be 
immediately  discontinued,  unless  the  persons  accused 
were  ecclesiastics,  soldiers,  or  servants  of  the  govern- 
ment, or  criminals  in  the  universal  sense  of  the  word. 

The  announcement  was  received  with  a frenzy  of 
enthusiasm,  and  Rome  went  mad  with  delight.  Instinc- 
tively, the  people  began  to  move  towards  the  Quirinal 
from  all  parts  of  the  city,  as  soon  as  the  proclamation 
was  published ; the  stragglers  became  a band,  and 
swelled  to  a crowd ; music  was  heard,  flags  appeared 
and  the  crowd  swelled  to  a multitude  that  thronged  the 
streets,  singing,  cheering  and  shouting  for  joy  as  they 
pushed  their  way  up  to  the  palace,  filling  the  square, 
the  streets  that  led  to  it  and  the  Via  della  Dateria 
beloyv  it,  to  overflowing.  In  answer  to  this  popular 
demonstration  the  Pope  appeared  upon  the  great  bal- 
cony above  the  main  entrance ; a shout  louder  than  all 
the  rest  burst  from  below,  the  long  drawn  ‘Viva!’  of 


184 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  southern  races ; he  lifted  his  hand,  and  there  was 
silence;  and  in  the  calm  summer  air  his  quiet  eyes 
were  raised  towards  the  sky  as  he  imparted  his  bene- 
diction to  the  people  of  Rome. 

Twenty-four  years  later,  when  the  Italians  had  taken 
Rome,  a detachment  of  soldiers  accompanied  by  a smith 
and  his  assistants  marched  up  to  the  same  gate.  Not 
a soul  was  within,  and  they  had  instructions  to  enter 
and  take  possession  of  the  palace.  In  the  presence  of 
a small  and  silent  crowd  of  sullen-looking  men  of  the 
people,  the  doors  were  forced. 

The  difference  between  Unity  under  Augustus  and 
Unity  under  Victor  Emmanuel  is  that  under  the  Empire 
the  Romans  took  Italy,  whereas  under  the  Kingdom 
the  Italians  have  taken  Rome.  Without  pretending 
that  there  can  be  any  moral  distinction  between  the 
two,  one  may  safely  admit  that  there  is  a great  and 
vital  one  between  the  two  conditions  of  Rome,  at  the 
two  periods  of  history,  a distinction  no  less  than  that 
which  separates  the  conqueror  from  the  conquered,  and 
the  fruits  of  conquest  from  the  consequences  of  sub- 
jection. But  thinking  men  do  not  forget  that  they  look 
at  the  past  in  one  way  and  at  the  present  in  another ; 
and  that  while  the  actions  of  a nation  are  dictated  by 
the  impulses  of  contagious  sentiment,  the  judgments  of 
history  are  too  often  based  upon  an  all  but  commercial 
reckoning  and  balancing  of  profit  and  loss. 

When  Sixtus  the  Fifth  was  building  the  Quirinal 


Trevi  185 

palace,  he  was  not  working  in  a wilderness  resembling 
the  deserted  fields  of  the  outlying  Monti.  The  hill  was 
covered  with  gardens  and  villas.  Ippolito  d’Este,  the 
son  of  Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  of  Lucrezia  Borgia, 
had  built  himself  a residence  on  the  west  side  of  the 


PALAZZO  DEL  QUIR1NALE 


hill,  surrounded  by  gardens.  It  was  in  the  manner  of 
his  magnificent  palace  at  Tivoli,  that  Villa  d’Este  of 
which  the  melancholy  charm  had  such  a mysterious 
attraction  for  Liszt,  where  the  dark  cypresses  reflect 
their  solemn  beauty  in  the  stagnant  water,  and  a weed- 
grown  terrace  mourns  the  dead  artist  in  the  silence  of 
decay. 


i86 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Further  on,  along  the  Via  Venti  Settembre,  stretched 
the  pleasure  grounds  of  Oliviero,  Cardinal  Carafa,  who 
is  remembered  as  the  man  who  first  recognized  the 
merits  of  the  beautiful  mutilated  group  subsequently 
known  as  ‘Pasquino,’  and  set  it  upon  the  pedestal 
which  made  it  famous,  and  gave  its  name  a place  in  all 
languages,  by  the  witty  lampoons  and  stinging  satires 
almost  daily  affixed  to  the  block  of  stone.  Many  other 
villas  followed  in  the  same  direction,  and  in  those  inse- 
cure days  not  a few  Romans,  when  the  summer  days 
grew  hot,  were  content  to  move  up  from  their  palaces  in 
the  lower  parts  of  the  city  to  breathe  the  somewhat 
better  air  of  the  Quirinal  and  the  Esquiline,  instead  of 
risking  a journey  to  the  country. 

Sixtus  the  Fifth  died  in  the  Quirinal  palace,  and 
twenty-one  other  Popes  have  died  there  since,  all  follow- 
ing the  curious  custom  of  bequeathing  their  hearts  and 
viscera  to  the  parish  Church  of  the  Saints  Vincent  and 
Anastasius,  which  is  known  as  the  Church  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  because  the  tasteless  front  was  built  by  him, 
though  the  rest  existed  much  earlier.  It  stands  oppo- 
site the  fountain  of  Trevi,  at  one  corner  of  the  little 
square ; the  vault  in  which  the  urns  were  placed  is  just 
behind  and  below  the  high  altar;  but  Benedict  the 
Fourteenth  built  a special  monument  for  them  on  the 
left  of  the  apse,  and  a tablet  on  the  right  records  the 
names  of  the  Popes  who  left  these  strange  legacies  to 
the  church. 


/ 


Trevi 


i87 


in  passing,  one  may  remember  that  Mazarin  himself 
was  born  in  the  Region  of  Trevi,  the  son  of  a Sicilian, — 
like  Crispi  and  Rudini.  His  father  was  employed  at 
first  as  a butler  and  then  as  a steward  by  the  Colonna, 
married  an  illegitimate  daughter  of  the  family,  and  lived 
to  see  his  granddaughter,  Maria  Mancini,  married  to  the 
head  of  the  house,  and  his  son  a cardinal  and  despot  of 
France,  and  himself,  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife, 
the  honoured  husband  of  Porzia  Orsini,  so  that  he  was 
the  only  man  in  history  who  was  married  both  to  an 
Orsini  and  to  a Colonna.  In  the  light  of  his  father’s 
extraordinary  good  fortune,  the  success  of  the  son, 
though  not  less  great,  is  at  least  less  astonishing.  The 
magnificent  Rospigliosi  palace,  often  ascribed  by  a mis- 
take to  Cardinal  Scipio  Borghese,  was  the  Palazzo  Maz- 
arini  and  Mazarin’s  father  died  there;  it  was  inherited 
by  the  Dukes  of  Nevers,  through  another  niece  of  the 
Cardinal’s,  and  was  bought  from  them  between  1667 
and  1670,  by  Prince  Rospigliosi,  brother  of  Pope 
Clement  the  Ninth,  then  reigning. 

Urban  the  Eighth,  the  Barberini  Pope,  had  already 
left  his  mark  on  the  Quirinal  hill.  The  great  Barberini 
palace  was  built  by  him,  it  is  said,  of  stones  taken  from 
the  Colosseum,  whereupon  a Pasquinade  announced 
that  ‘ the  Barberini  had  done  what  the  Barbarians  had 
not.’  The  Barbarians  did  not  pull  down  the  Colos- 
seum, it  is  true,  but  they  could  assuredly  not  have  built 
as  Urban  did,  and  in  that  particular  instance,  without 


1 88 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


wishing  to  justify  the  vandalisms  of  the  centuries  suc- 
ceeding the  Renascence,  it  may  well  be  asked  whether 
the  Amphitheatre  is  not  more  picturesque  in  its  half- 
ruined  state,  as  it  stands,  and  whether  the  city  is  not 
richer  by  a great  work  of  art  in  the  princely  dwelling 
which  faces  the  street  of  the  Four  Fountains. 

Among  the  many  memories  of  the  Quirinal  there  is 
one  more  mysterious  than  the  rest.  The  great  Baths 
of  Constantine  extended  over  the  site  of  the  Palazzo 
Rospigliosi,  and  the  ruins  were  in  part  standing  at 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It  is  related  by  a 
writer  of  those  days  and  an  eye-witness  of  the  fact, 
that  a vault  was  discovered  beneath  the  old  baths, 
about  eighty  feet  long  by  twenty  wide,  closed  at  one 
end  by  a wall  thrown  up  with  evident  haste  and  lack 
of  skill,  and  completely  filled  with  human  bodies  that 
fell  to  dust  at  the  first  touch,  evidently  laid  there  all  at 
the  same  time,  just  after  death,  and  probably  number- 
ing at  least  a thousand.  In  vain  one  conjectures  the 
reason  of  such  wholesale  burial  — one  of  Nero’s  mas- 
sacres, perhaps,  or  a plague.  No  one  can  tell. 

The  invaluable  Baracconi,  often  quoted,  recalls  the 
fact  that  Tasso,  when  a child,  lived  with  his  father 
in  some  house  on  the  Monte  Cavallo,  when  the  exe- 
crable Carafa  cardinal  and  his  brother  had  temporarily 
succeeded  in  seizing  all  the  Colonna  property;  and  he 
gives  a letter  of  Bernardo,  the  poet’s  father,  written 
in  July  to  his  wife,  who  was  away  just  then. 


/ 


PIAZZA  BARSERINI 


r 


T re  vi 


189 


‘ I do  not  wish  the  children  to  go  to  the  vineyard 
because  they  get  too  hot,  and  the  air  is  bad  there 
this  summer,  but  in  order  that  they  may  have  a change, 
I took  steps  to  have  the  use  of  the  Boccaccio  Vine- 
yard [Villa  Colonna],  and  the  Duke  of  Paliano  [then  a 
Carafa,  for  the  latter  had  stolen  the  title  as  well  as  the 
lands]  has  let  me  have  it,  and  we  have  been  here  a 
week  and  shall  stay  all  summer  in  this  good  air.’ 

The  words  call  up  a picture  of  Tasso,  a small  boy, 
pale  with  the  heat  of  a Roman  summer,  but  restless 
and  for  ever  running  about,  overheated  and  catching 
cold  like  all  delicate  children,  which  brings  the  un- 
happy poet  a little  nearer  to  us. 

Of  those  great  villas  and  gardens  there  remain  the 
Colonna,  the  Rospigliosi  and  the  Quirinal,  by  far  the 
largest  of  the  three,  and  enclosing  between  four  walls 
an  area  almost,  if  not  quite,  equal  to  the  Pincio.  The 
great  palace  where  twenty-two  popes  died  is  inhabited 
by  the  royal  family  of  Italy  and  crowns  the  height,  as 
the  Vatican,  far  away  across  the  Tiber,  is  also  on  an 
eminence  of  its  own.  They  face  each  other,  like  two 
principles  in  natural  and  eternal  opposition,  — Rome 
the  conqueror  of  the  world,  and  Italy  the  conqueror  of 
Rome.  And  he  who  loves  the  land  for  its  own  sake 
can  only  pray  that  if  they  must  oppose  each  other  for 
ever  in  heart,  they  may  abide  in  that  state  of  civilized 
though  unreconciled  peace,  which  is  the  nation’s  last 
and  only  hope  of  prosperity. 


REGION  III  COLONNA 

When  the  present  Queen  of  Italy  first  came  to  Rome 
as  Princess  Margaret,  and  drove  through  the  city  to 
obtain  a general  impression  of  it,  she  reached  the  Piazza 
Colonna  and  asked  what  the  column  might  be  which  is 
the  most  conspicuous  landmark  in  that  part  of  Rome 
and  gives  a name  to  the  square,  and  to  the  whole 
Region.  The  answer  of  the  elderly  officer  who  accom- 
panied the  Princess  and  her  ladies  is  historical.  ‘That 
column/  he  answered,  ‘is  the  Column  of  Piazza  Co- 
lonna ’ — ‘the  Column  of  Column  Square/  as  we  might 
say  — and  that  was  all  he  could  tell  concerning  it,  for 
his  business  was  not  archaeology,  but  soldiering.  The 
column  was  erected  by  the  Emperor  Marcus  Aure- 
lius, whose  equestrian  statue  stands  on  the  Capitol,  to 
commemorate  his  victory  over  the  Marcomanni. 

190 


Colonna 


191 

It  is  remarkable  that  so  many  of  the  monuments  still 
preserved  comparatively  intact  should  have  been  set  up 
by  the  adoptive  line  of  the  so-called  Antonines,  from 
Trajan  to  Marcus  Aurelius,  and  that  the  two  monster 
columns,  the  one  in  Piazza  Colonna  and  the  one  in  Tra- 
jan’s Forum,  should  be  the  work  of  the  last  and  the 


ARCH  OF  TITUS 


first  of  those  emperors,  respectively.  Among  other 
memorials  of  them  are  the  Colosseum,  the  Arch  of 
Titus  and  the  statue  mentioned  above.  The  lofty 
Septizonium  is  levelled  to  the  ground,  the  Palaces  of 
the  Caesars  are  a mountain  of  ruins,  the  triumphal 
arches  of  Marcus  Aurelius  and  of  Domitian  have 
disappeared  with  those  of  Gratian,  of  Valens,  of 


192 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Arcadius  and  of  many  others ; but  the  two  gigantic 
columns  still  stand  erect  with  their  sculptured  tales  of 
victory  and  triumph  almost  unbroken,  surmounted  by 
the  statues  of  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul,  whose  mem- 
ory was  sacred  to  all  Christians  long  before  the  monu- 
ments were  erected,  and  to  whom,  respectively,  they 
have  been  dedicated  by  a later  age. 

There  may  have  been  a connection,  too,  in  the  minds 
of  the  people,  between  the  ‘Column  of  Piazza  Colonna’ 
and  the  Column  of  the  Colonna  family,  since  a great 
part  of  this  Region  had  fallen  under  the  domination  of 
the  noble  house,  and  was  held  by  them  with  a chain 
of  towers  and  fortifications ; but  the  pillar  which  is 
the  device  of  the  Region  terminates  in  the  statue 
of  the  Apostle  Peter,  whereas  the  one  which  figures  in 
the  shield  of  Colonna  is  crowned  with  a royal  crown, 
in  memory  of  the  coronation  of  Lewis  the  Bavarian  by 
Sciarra,  who  himself  generally  lived  in  a palace  facing 
the  small  square  which  bears  his  name,  and  which  is 
only  a widening  of  the  Corso  just  north  of  San  Marcello, 
the  scene  of  Jacopo  Colonna’s  brave  protest  against  his 
kinsman’s  mistaken  imperialism. 

The  straight  Corso  itself,  or  what  is  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  it  to  Romans,  runs  through  the  Region  from 
San  Lorenzo  in  Lucina  to  Piazza  di  Sciarra,  and  beyond 
that,  southwards,  it  forms  the  western  boundary  of 
Trevi  as  far  as  the  Palazzo  di  Venezia,  and  the  Ripresa 
de’  Barberi — the  ‘Catching  of  the  Racers.’  West  of  the 


/ 


Colonna 


193 


Corso,  the  Region  takes  in  the  Monte  Citorio  and  the 
Piazza  of  the  Pantheon,  but  not  the  Pantheon  itself,  and 
eastwards  it  embraces  the  new  quarter  which  was  for- 
merly the  Villa  Ludovisi,  and  follows  the  Aurelian  wall, 
from  Porta  Salaria  to  Porta  Pinciana.  Corso  means 
a ‘course,’  and  the  Venetian  Paul  the  Second,  who 
found  Rome  dull  compared  with  Venice,  gave  it  the 
name  when  he  made  it  a race-course  for  the  Carnival, 
towards  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Before  that 
it  was  Via  Lata,  — ‘ Broad  Street,’  — and  was  a straight 
continuation  of  the  Via  Flaminia,  the  main  northern 
highway  from  the  city.  For  centuries  it  has  been  the 
chief  playground  of  the  Roman  Carnival,  a festival  of 
which,  perhaps,  nothing  but  the  memory  will  remain  in  a 
few  years,  when  the  world  will  wonder  how  it  could  be 
possible  that  the  population  of  the  grave  old  city  should 
have  gone  mad  each  year  for  ten  days  and  behaved 
itself  by  day  and  night  like  a crowd  of  schoolboys  let 
loose. 

‘ Carnival  ’ is  supposed  to  be  derived  from  * Carne- 
levamen,’  a ‘solace  for  the  flesh.’  Byron  alone  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  barbarous  derivation  ‘ Carne  Vale,’ 
farewell  meat  — a philological  impossibility.  In  the 
minds  of  the  people  it  is  probably  most  often  translated 
as  ‘ Meat  Time,’  a name  which  had  full  meaning  in 
times  when  occasional  strict  fasting  and  frequent  ab- 
stinence were  imposed  on  Romans  almost  by  law.  Its 
beginnings  are  lost  in  the  dawnless  night  of  time  — of 


VOL.  I 


o 


194 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Time,  who  was  Kronos,  of  Kronos  who  was  Saturn,  of 
Saturn  who  gave  his  mysterious  name  to  the  Saturnalia 
in  which  Carnival  had  its  origin.  His  temple  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  Capitol  hill,  facing  the  corner  of  the 
Forum,  and  there  are  remains  of  it  today,  tall  columns 
in  a row,  with  architrave  and  frieze  and  cornice  ; from 
the  golden  milestone  close  at  hand,  as  from  the  begin- 
ning of  time,  were  measured  the  ways  of  the  world  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth  ; and  the  rites  performed  within  it 
were  older  than  any  others,  and  different,  for  here  the 
pious  Roman  worshipped  with  uncovered  head,  whereas 
in  all  other  temples  he  drew  up  his  robes  as  a veil  lest 
any  sight  of  evil  omen  should  meet  his  eyes,  and  here 
waxen  tapers  were  first  burned  in  Rome  in  honour  of  a 
god.  And  those  same  tapers  played  a part,  to  the  end, 
on  the  last  night  of  Carnival.  But  in  the  coincidence  of 
old  feasts  with  new  ones,  the  festival  of  Lupercus  falls 
nearer  to  the  time  of  Ash  Wednesday,  for  the  Luper- 
calia  were  celebrated  on  the  fifteenth  of  February, 
whereas  the  Carnival  of  Saturn  began  on  the  seven- 
teenth of  December. 

Lupercus  was  but  a little  god,  yet  he  was  great  among 
the  shepherds  in  Rome’s  pastoral  beginnings,  for  he  was 
the  driver  away  of  wolves,  and  on  his  day  the  early 
settlers  ran  round  and  round  their  sheepfold  on  the 
Palatine,  all  dressed  in  skins  of  fresh-slain  goats,  prais- 
ing the  Faun  god,  and  calling  upon  him  to  protect  their 
flocks.  And  in  truth,  as  the  winter,  when  wolves  are 


Colonna 


l95 


hungry  and  daring,  was  over,  his  protection  was  a fore- 
gone conclusion  till  the  cold  days  came  again.  The 
grotto  dedicated  to  him  was  on  the  northwest  slope  of 
the  Palatine,  nearly  opposite  the  Church  of  Saint  George 
in  Velabro,  across  the  Via  di  San  Teodoro;  and  all  that 
remains  of  the  great  festival  in  which  Mark  Antony  and 
the  rest  ran  like  wild  men  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 
smiting  men  and  women  with  the  purifying  leathern 
thong,  and  offering  at  last  that  crown  which  Caesar 
thrice  refused,  is  merged  and  forgotten,  with  the  Satur- 
nalia, in  the  ten  days’  feasting  and  rioting  that  change 
to  the  ashes  and  sadness  of  Lent,  as  the  darkest  night 
follows  the  brightest  day.  For  the  Romans  always 
loved  strong  contrasts. 

Carnival,  in  the  wider  sense,  begins  at  Christmas 
and  ends  when  Lent  begins ; but  to  most  people  it 
means  but  the  last  ten  days  of  the  season,  when 
festivities  crowd  upon  each  other  till  pleasure  fight9 
for  minutes  as  for  jewels ; when  tables  are  spread 
all  night  and  lights  are  put  out  at  dawn ; when  society 
dances  itself  into  distraction  and  poor  men  make  such 
feasting  as  they  can ; when  no  one  works  who  can 
help  it,  and  no  work  done  is  worth  having,  because 
it  is  done  for  double  price  and  half  its  value ; when 
affairs  of  love  are  hastened  to  solution  or  catastrophe, 
and  affairs  of  state  are  treated  with  the  scorn  they 
merit  in  the  eyes  of  youth,  because  the  only  sense 
is  laughter,  and  the  only  wisdom,  folly.  That  is 


196 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Carnival,  personified  by  the  people  as  a riotous  old 
red-cheeked,  bottle-nosed  hunchback,  animated  by  the 
spirit  of  fun. 

In  a still  closer  sense,  Carnival  is  the  Carnival  in 
the  Corso,  or  was ; for  it  is  dead  beyond  resuscitation, 
and  such  efforts  as  are  made  to  give  it  life  again 
are  but  foolish  incantations  that  call  up  sad  ghosts 
of  joy,  spiritless  and  witless.  But  within  living  mem- 
ory, it  was  very  different.  In  those  days  which  can 
never  come  back,  the  Corso  was  a sight  to  see  and 
not  to  be  forgotten.  The  small  citizens  who  had  small 
houses  in  the  street  let  every  window  to  the  topmost 
story  for  the  whole  ten  days ; the  rich  whose  palaces 
faced  the  favoured  line  threw  open  their  doors  to 
their  friends ; every  window  was  decorated,  from 
every  balcony  gorgeous  hangings,  or  rich  carpets, 
or  even  richer  tapestries  hung  down ; the  street  was 
strewn  thick  with  yellow  sand,  and  wheresoever  there 
was  an  open  space  wooden  seats  were  built  up,  row 
above  row,  where  one  might  hire  a place  to  see  the 
show  and  join  in  throwing  flowers,  and  the  lime- 
covered  ‘ confetti  * that  stung  like  small  shot  and 
whitened  everything  like  meal,  and  forced  everyone 
in  the  street  or  within  reach  of  it  to  wear  a shield 
of  thin  wire  netting  to  guard  the  face,  and  thick  gloves 
to  shield  the  hands ; or,  in  older  times,  a mask,  black, 
white,  or  red,  or  modelled  and  painted  with  extravagant 
features,  like  evil  beings  in  a dream. 


Colonna 


197 


In  the  early  afternoon  of  each  day  except  Sunday 
it  all  began,  day  after  day  the  same,  save  that  the  fun 
grew  wilder  and  often  rougher  as  the  doom  of  Ash 
Wednesday  drew  near.  First  when  the  people  had 
gathered  in  their  places,  high  and  low,  and  already 
thronged  the  street  from  side  to  side,  there  was  a 
distant  rattle  of  scabbards  and  a thunder  of  hoofs, 


TWIN  CHURCHES  AT  THE  ENTRANCE  TO  THE  CORSO 
From  a print  of  the  last  century 


and  all  fell  back,  crowding  and  climbing  upon  one 
another,  to  let  a score  of  cavalrymen  trot  through, 
clearing  the  way  for  the  carriages  of  the  ‘ Senator  * 
and  Municipality,  which  drove  from  end  to  end  of 
the  Corso  with  their  scarlet  and  yellow  liveries,  before 
any  other  vehicles  were  allowed  to  pass,  or  any  pelting 
with  ‘ confetti  ’ began.  But  on  the  instant  when  they 


198 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


had  gone  by,  the  showers  began,  right,  left,  upwards, 
downwards,  like  little  storms  of  flowers  and  snow  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine,  and  the  whole  air  was  filled 
with  the  laughter  and  laughing  chatter  of  twenty 
thousand  men  and  women  and  children  — such  a sound 
as  could  be  heard  nowhere  else  in  the  world.  Many 
have  heard  a great  host  cheer,  many  have  heard  the 
battle-cries  of  armies,  many  have  heard  the  terrible 
deep  yell  that  goes  up  from  an  angry  multitude  in 
times  of  revolution ; but  only  those  who  remember  the 
Carnival  as  it  used  to  be  have  heard  a whole  city  laugh, 
and  the  memory  is  worth  having,  for  it  is  like  no  other. 
The  sound  used  to  flow  along  in  great  waves,  following 
the  sights  that  passed,  and  swelling  with  them  to  a peal 
that  was  like  a cheer,  and  ebbing  then  to  a steady,  even 
ripple  of  enjoyment  that  never  ceased  till  it  rose  again 
in  sheer  joy  of  something  new  to  see.  Nothing  can 
give  an  idea  of  the  picture  in  times  when  Rome  was 
still  Roman ; no  power  of  description  can  call  up  the 
crowd  that  thronged  and  jammed  the  long,  narrow 
street,  till  the  slowly  moving  carriages  and  cars  seemed 
to  force  their  way  through  the  stiffly  packed  mass  of 
humanity  as  a strong  vessel  ploughs  her  course  up- 
stream through  packed  ice  in  winter.  Yet  no  one  was 
hurt,  and  an  order  reigned  which  could  never  have  been 
produced  by  any  means  except  the  most  thorough  good 
temper  and  the  determination  of  each  individual  to  do 
no  harm  to  his  neighbour,  though  all  respect  of  indi- 


/' 


Colonna 


199 


viduals  was  as  completely  gone  as  in  any  anarchy  of 
revolution.  The  more  respectable  a man  looked  who 
ventured  into  the  press  in  ordinary  clothes,  the  more 
certainly  he  became  at  once  the  general  mark  for  hail- 
storms of  ‘ confetti.’  No  uniform  nor  distinguishing 
badge  was  respected,  excepting  those  of  the  squad  of 
cavalrymen  who  cleared  the  way,  and  the  liveries  of  the 
Municipality’s  coaches.  Men  and  women  were  traves- 
tied and  disguised  in  every  conceivable  way,  as  Punch 
and  Judy,  as  judges  and  lawyers  with  enormous  square 
black  caps,  black  robes  and  bands,  or  in  dresses  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  or  as  Harlequins,  or  even  as  bears 
and  monkeys,  singly,  or  in  twos  and  threes,  or  in  little 
companies  of  fifteen  or  twenty,  all  dressed  precisely 
alike  and  performing  comic  evolutions  with  military 
exactness.  Everyone  carried  a capacious  pouch,  or 
a fishing-basket,  or  some  receptacle  of  the  kind  for 
the  white  ‘confetti,’  and  arms  and  hands  were  cease- 
lessly swung  in  air,  flinging  vast  quantities  of  the 
snowy  stuff  at  long  range  and  short.  At  every  cor- 
ner and  in  every  side  street,  men  sold  it  out  of 
huge  baskets,  by  the  five,  and  ten,  and  twenty  pounds, 
weighing  it  out  with  the  ancient  steelyard  balance. 
Every  balcony  was  lined  with  long  troughs  of  it, 
constantly  replenished  by  the  house  servants ; every 
carriage  and  car  had  a full  supply.  And  through 
all  the  air  the  odd,  clean  odour  of  the  fresh  plaster 
mingled  with  the  fragrance  of  the  box-leaves  and  the 


200 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


perfume  of  countless  flowers.  For  flowers  were 
thrown,  too,  in  every  way,  loose  and  scattered,  or  in 
hard  little  bunches,  the  ‘mazzetti,’  that  almost  hurt 
when  they  struck  the  mark,  and  in  beautiful  nosegays, 
rarely  flung  at  random  when  a pretty  face  was  within 
sight  at  a window.  The  cars,  often  charmingly  deco- 
rated, were  filled  with  men  and  women  representing 
some  period  of  fashion,  or  some  incident  in  history, 
or  some  allegorical  subject,  and  were  sometimes  two 
or  three  stories  high,  and  covered  all  over  with  gar- 
lands of  flowers  and  box  and  myrtle.  In  the  intervals 
between  them  endless  open  carriages  moved  along, 
lined  with  white,  filled  with  white  dominos,  drawn  by 
horses  all  protected  and  covered  with  white  cotton 
robes,  against  the  whiter  ‘ confetti  * — everyone  fight- 
ing mock  battles  with  everyone  else,  till  it  seemed 
impossible  that  anything  could  be  left  to  throw,  and 
the  long  perspective  of  the  narrow  street  grew  dim 
between  the  high  palaces,  and  misty  and  purple  in  the 
evening  light. 

A gun  fired  somewhere  far  away  as  a signal  warned 
the  carriages  to  turn  out,  and  make  way  for  the  race 
that  was  to  follow.  The  last  moments  were  the  hottest 
and  the  wildest,  as  flowers,  ‘confetti,’  sugar  plums  with 
comet-like  tails,  wreaths,  garlands,  everything,  went 
flying  through  the  air  in  a final  and  reckless  profusion, 
and  as  the  last  car  rolled  away  the  laughter  and  shout- 
ing ceased,  and  all  was  hushed  in  the  expectation  of 


/ 


Colonna 


201 


the  day’s  last  sight.  Again,  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and 
scabbards,  as  the  dragoons  cleared  the  way;  twenty 
thousand  heads  and  necks  craning  to  look  northward, 
as  the  people  pushed  back  to  the  side  pavements ; si- 
lence, and  the  inevitable  yellow  dog  that  haunts  all 
race-courses,  scampering  over  the  white  street,  scared 
by  the  shouts,  and  catcalls,  and  bursts  of  spasmodic 
laughter;  then  a far  sound  of  flying  hoofs,  a dead 
silence,  and  the  quick  breathing  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment; louder  and  louder  the  hoofs,  deader  the  hush; 
and  then,  in  the  dash  of  a second,  in  the  scud  of  a 
storm,  in  a whirlwind  of  light  and  colour  and  sparkling 
gold  leaf,  with  straining  necks,  and  flashing  eyes,  and 
wide  red  nostrils  flecked  with  foam,  the  racing  colts 
flew  by  as  fleet  as  darting  lightning,  riderless  and  swift 
as  rock-swallows  by  the  sea. 

Then,  if  it  were  the  last  night  of  Carnival,  as 
the  purple  air  grew  brown  in  the  dusk,  myriads  of 
those  wax  tapers  first  used  in  Saturn’s  temple  of  old 
lit  up  the  street  like  magic  and  the  last  game  of  all 
began,  for  every  man  and  woman  and  child  strove  to 
put  out  another’s  candle,  and  the  long,  laughing  cry, 
‘No  taper!  No  taper!  Senza  moccolo!’  went  ring- 
ing up  to  the  darkling  sky.  Long  canes  with  cloths 
or  damp  sponges  or  extinguishers  fixed  to  them  started 
up  from  nowhere,  down  from  everywhere,  from  window 
and  balcony  to  the  street  below,  and  from  the  street  to 
the  low  balconies  above.  Put  out  at  every  instant, 


202 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  little  candles  were  instantly  relighted,  till  they  were 
consumed  down  to  the  hand ; and  as  they  burned  low, 
another  cry  went  up,  ‘ Carnival  is  dead ! Carnival  is 
dead!  ’ But  he  was  not  really  dead  till  midnight,  when 
the  last  play  of  the  season  had  been  acted  in  the  play- 
houses, the  last  dance  danced,  the  last  feast  eaten  amid 
song  and  laughter,  and  the  solemn  Patarina  of  the 
Capitol  tolled  out  the  midnight  warning  like  a funeral 
knell.  That  was  the  end. 

The  riderless  race  was  at  least  four  hundred  years 
old  when  it  was  given  up.  The  horses  were  always 
called  Barberi,  with  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable,  and 
there  has  been  much  discussion  about  the  origin  of  the 
name.  Some  say  that  it  meant  horses  from  Barbary, 
but  then  it  should  be  pronounced  Barberi,  accented 
on  the  penultimate.  Others  think  it  stood  for  Bar- 
bari — barbarian,  that  is,  unridden.  The  Romans 
never  misplace  an  accent,  and  rarely  mistake  the  proper 
quantity  of  a syllable  long  or  short.  For  my  own  part, 
though  no  scholar  has  as  yet  suggested  it,  I believe 
that  the  common  people,  always  fond  of  easy  witticisms 
and  catchwords,  coined  the  appellation,  with  an  eye  to 
the  meaning  of  both  the  other  derivations,  out  of  Barbo, 
the  family  name  of  Pope  Paul  the  Second,  who  first 
instituted  the  Carnival  races,  and  set  the  winning  post 
under  the  balcony  of  the  huge  Palazzo  di  Venezia, 
which  he-  had  built  beside  the  Church  of  Saint  Mark, 
to  the  honour  and  glory  of  his  native  city. 


Colonna 


203 


He  made  men  run  foot-races,  too  : men,  youths  and 
boys,  of  all  ages;  and  the  poor  Jews,  in  heavy  cloth 
garments,  were  first  fed  and  stuffed  with  cakes  and 
then  made  to  run,  too.  The  jests  of  the  Middle  Age 
were  savage  compared  with  the  roughest  play  of  later 
times. 

The  pictures  of  old  Rome  are  fading  fast.  I can 
remember,  when  a little  boy,  seeing  the  great  Carnival 
of  1859,  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  in  Rome,  and 
the  masks  which  had  been  forbidden  since  the  revolu- 
tion were  allowed  again  in  his  honour ; and  before  the 
flower  throwing  began,  I saw  Liszt,  the  pianist,  not  yet 
in  orders,  but  dressed  in  a close-fitting  and  very  fashion- 
able grey  frock-coat,  with  a grey  high  hat,  young  then, 
tall,  athletic  and  erect ; he  came  out  suddenly  from  a 
doorway,  looked  to  the  right  and  left  in  evident  fear  of 
being  made  a mark  for  ‘ confetti,’  crossed  the  street 
hurriedly  and  disappeared  — not  at  all  the  silver-haired, 
priestly  figure  the  world  knew  so  well  in  later  days. 
And  by  and  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  came  by  in  a 
simple  open  carriage,  a thin  young  man  in  a black  coat, 
with  a pale  face  and  a quiet  smile,  looking  all  about 
him  with  an  almost  boyish  interest,  and  bowing  to  the 
right  and  left. 

Then  in  deep  contrast  of  sadness,  out  of  the  past 
years  comes  a great  funeral  by  night,  down  the  Corso ; 
hundreds  of  brown,  white-bearded  friars,  two  and  two 
with  huge  wax  candles,  singing  the  ancient  chant  of 


204 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  penitential  psalms  ; hundreds  of  hooded  lay  brethren 
of  the  Confraternities,  some  in  black,  some  in  white, 
with  round  holes  for  their  eyes  that  flashed  through, 
now  and  then,  in  the  yellow  glare  of  the  flaming  tapers ; 
hundreds  of  little  street  boys  beside  them  in  the 


SAN  LORENZO  IN  LUCINA 


shadow,  holding  up  big  horns  of  grocers’  paper  to 
catch  the  dripping  wax ; and  then,  among  priests  in 
cotta  and  stole,  the  open  bier  carried  on  men’s  shoulders, 
and  on  it  the  peaceful  figure  of  a dead  girl,  white- 
robed,  blossom  crowned,  delicate  as  a frozen  flower  in 
the  cold  winter  air.  She  had  died  of  an  innocent  love, 
they  said,  and  she  was  borne  in  through  the  gates  of 


/ 


Colonna 


205 

the  Santi  Apostoli  to  her  rest  in  the  solemn  darkness. 
Nor  has  anyone  been  buried  in  that  way  since  then. 

In  the  days  of  Paul  the  Second,  what  might  be  called 
living  Rome,  taken  in  the  direction  of  the  Corso,  began 
at  the  Arch  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  long  attributed  to 
Domitian,  which  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  small  square 
called  after  San  Lorenzo  in  Lucina.  Beyond  that 
point,  northwards  and  eastwards,  the  city  was  a mere 
desert,  and  on  the  west  side  the  dwelling-houses  fell 
away  towards  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus,  the  fortress 
of  the  Colonna.  The  arch  itself  used  to  be  called  the 
Arch  of  Portugal,  because  a Portuguese  Cardinal,  Gio- 
vanni da  Costa,  lived  in  the  Fiano  palace  at  the  corner 
of  the  Corso.  No  one  would  suppose  that  very  modern- 
looking building,  with  its  smooth  front  and  conven- 
tional balconies,  to  be  six  hundred  years  old,  the  ancient 
habitation  of  all  the  successive  Cardinals  of  Saint  Law- 
rence. Its  only  other  interest,  perhaps,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  it  formed  part  of  the  great  estates  bestowed  by 
Sixtus  the  Fifth  on  his  nephews,  and  was  nevertheless 
sold  over  their  children’s  heads  for  debt,  fifty-five  years 
after  his  death.  The  swineherd’s  race  was  prodigal, 
excepting  the  ‘Great  Friar’  himself,  and,  like  the 
Prodigal  Son,  it  was  not  long  before  the  Peretti  were 
reduced  to  eating  the  husks. 

It  was  natural  that  the  palaces  of  the  Renascence 
should  rise  along  the  only  straight  street  of  any  length 
in  what  was  then  the  inhabited  part  of  the  city,  and 


206 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


that  the  great  old  Roman  Barons,  the  Colonna,  the 
Orsini,  the  Caetani,  should  continue  to  live  in  their 
strongholds,  where  they  had  always  dwelt.  The 
Caetani,  indeed,  once  bought  from  a Florentine  banker 
what  is  now  the  Ruspoli  palace,  and  Sciarra  Colonna 
had  lived  far  down  the  Corso ; but  with  these  two 
exceptions,  the  princely  habitations  between  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo  and  the  Piazza  di  Venezia  are  almost  all 
the  property  of  families  once  thought  foreigners  in 
Rome.  The  greatest,  the  most  magnificent  private 
dwelling  in  the  world  is  the  Doria  Pamfili  palace,  as 
the  Doria  themselves  were  the  most  famous,  and 
became  the  most  powerful  of  those  many  nobles  who, 
in  the  course  of  centuries,  settled  in  the  capital  and 
became  Romans,  not  only  in  name  but  in  fact  — Doria, 
Borghese,  Rospigliosi,  Pallavicini  and  others  of  less 
enduring  fame  or  reputation,  who  came  in  the  train 
or  alliance  of  a Pope,  and  remained  in  virtue  of  accu- 
mulated riches  and  acquired  honour. 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  have  passed  since  a 
council  of  learned  doctors  and  casuists  decided  for 
Pope  Innocent  the  Tenth  the  precise  limit  of  his  just 
power  to  enrich  his  nephews  and  relations,  the  Pamfili, 
by  an  alliance  with  whom  the  original  Doria  of  Genoa 
added  another  name  to  their  own,  and  inherited  the 
vast  estates.  But  nearly  four  hundred  years  before 
Innocent,  the  Doria  had  been  high  admirals  and  almost 
despots  of  Genoa.  For  they  were  a race  of  seamen 


/ 


Colonna 


207 


from  the  first,  in  a republic  where  seamanship  was 
the  first  essential  to  distinction.  Albert  Doria  over- 
came the  Pisans  off  Meloria  in  1284,  slaying  five  thou- 
sand, and  taking  eleven  thousand  prisoners.  Conrad, 
his  son,  was  ‘Captain  of  the  Genoese  Freedom,’  and 
‘Captain  of  the  People.’  Lamba  Doria  vanquished 
the  Venetians  under  the  brave  Andrea  Dandolo, 
and  Paganino  Doria  conquered  them  again  under 
another  Andrea  Dandolo ; and  then  an  Andrea  Doria 
took  service  with  the  Pope,  and  became  the  greatest 
sailor  in  Europe,  the  hero  of  a hundred  sea-fights, 
at  one  time  the  ally  of  Francis  the  First  of  France, 
and  the  most  dangerous  opponent  of  Gonzalvo  da 
Cordova,  then  high  admiral  of  the  Empire  under 
Charles  the  Fifth,  a destroyer  of  pirates,  by  turns  the 
idol,  the  enemy  and  the  despot  of  his  own  city,  Genoa, 
and  altogether  such  a type  of  a soldier-sailor  of  fortune 
as  the  world  has  not  seen  before  or  since.  And  there 
were  others  after  him,  notably  Gian  Andrea  Doria, 
remembered  by  the  great  victory  over  the  Turks  at 
Lepanto,  whence  he  brought  home  those  gorgeous 
Eastern  spoils  of  tapestry  and  embroideries  which  hang 
in  the  Doria  palace  today. 

The  history  of  the  palace  itself  is  not  without  interest, 
for  it  shows  how  property,  which  was  not  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  original  Barons,  sometimes  passed  from  hand 
to  hand,  changing  names  with  each  new  owner,  in  the 
rise  and  fall  of  fortunes  in  those  times.  The  first  build- 


208 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


in g seems  to  have  belonged  to  the  Chapter  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore,  which  somehow  ceded  it  to  Cardinal 
Santorio,  who  spent  an  immense  sum  in  rebuilding, 
extending  and  beautifying  it.  When  it  was  almost 
finished,  Julius  the  Second  came  to  see  it,  and  after 


PALAZZO  DOR  I A PAM  FI  LI 


expressing  the  highest  admiration  for  the  work,  ob- 
served that  such  a habitation  was  less  fitting  for  a 
prince  of  the  church  than  for  a secular  duke  — mean- 
ing, by  the  latter,  his  own  nephew,  Francesco  della 
Rovere,  then  Duke  of  Urbino;  and  the  unfortunate 
Santorio,  who  had  succeeded  in  preserving  his  posses- 
sions under  the  domination  of  the  Borgia,  was  forced  to 


/ 


Colonna 


209 


offer  the  most  splendid  palace  in  Rome  as  a gift  to  the 
person  designated  by  his  master.  He  died  of  a broken 
heart  within  the  year.  A hundred  years  later,  the  Flor- 
entine Aldobrandini,  nephew  of  Clement  the  Eighth, 
bought  it  from  the  Dukes  of  Urbino  for  twelve  thou- 
sand measures  of  grain,  furnished  them  for  the  pur- 
pose by  their  uncle,  and  finally,  when  it  had  fallen  in 
inheritance  to  Donna  Olimpia  Aldobrandini,  Innocent 
the  Tenth  married  her  to  his  nephew,  Camillo  Pamfili, 
from  whom,  by  the  fusion  of  the  two  families,  it  at  last 
came  into  the  hands  of  the  Doria-Pamfili. 

The  Doria  palace  is  almost  two-thirds  of  the  size 
of  Saint  Peter’s,  and  within  the  ground  plan  of  Saint 
Peter’s  the  Colosseum  could  stand.  It  used  to  be  said 
that  a thousand  persons  lived  under  the  roof  outside  of 
the  gallery  and  the  private  apartments,  which  alone 
surpass  in  extent  the  majority  of  royal  residences. 
Without  some  such  comparison  mere  words  can  convey 
nothing  to  a mind  unaccustomed  to  such  size  and  space, 
and  when  the  idea  is  grasped,  one  asks,  naturally 
enough,  how  the  people  lived  who  built  such  houses  — 
the  people  whose  heirs,  far  reduced  in  splendour,  if  not 
in  fortune,  are  driven  to  let  four-fifths  of  their  family 
mansion,  because  they  find  it  impossible  to  occupy  more 
rooms  than  suffice  the  Emperor  of  Germany  or  the 
Queen  of  England.  One  often  hears  foreign  visitors, 
ignorant  of  the  real  size  of  palaces  in  Rome,  observe, 
with  contempt,  that  the  Roman  princes  Met  their  pal- 


VOL.  1 


p 


2 IO 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


aces.’  It  would  be  more  reasonable  to  inquire  what 
use  could  be  made  of  such  buildings,  if  they  were  not 
let,  or  how  any  family  could  be  expected  to  inhabit  a 
thousand  rooms,  and,  ultimately,  for  what  purpose  such 
monstrous  residences  were  ever  built  at  all. 

The  first  thing  that  suggests  itself  in  answer  to  the 
latter  question  as  the  cause  of  such  boundless  extrava- 
gance is  the  inherited  giantism  of  the  Latins,  to  which 
reference  has  been  more  than  once  made  in  these  pages, 
and  to  which  the  existence  of  many  of  the  principal 
buildings  in  Rome  must  be  ascribed.  Next,  we  may 
consider  that  at  one  time  or  another,  each  of  the  greater 
Roman  palaces  has  been,  in  all  essentials,  the  court  of  a 
pope  or  of  a reigning  feudal  prince.  Lastly,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  each  palace  was  the  seat  of  manage- 
ment of  all  its  owner’s  estates,  and  that  such  administra- 
tion in  those  times  required  a number  of  scribes  and  an 
amount  of  labour  altogether  out  of  proportion  with  the 
income  derived  from  the  land. 

At  first  sight  the  study  of  Italian  life  in  the  Middle 
Age  does  not  seem  very  difficult,  because  it  is  so 
interesting.  But  when  one  has  read  the  old  chroni- 
cles that  have  survived,  and  the  histories  of  those 
times,  one  is  amazed  to  see  how  much  we  are  told 
about  people  and  their  actions,  and  how  very  little 
about  the  way  in  which  people  lived.  It  is  easier  to 
learn  the  habits  of  the  Egyptians,  or  the  Greeks,  or 
the  ancient  Romans,  or  the  Assyrians,  than  to  get 


/ 


Colonna 


21 1 


at  the  daily  life  of  an  Italian  family  between  the 
eleventh  and  the  thirteenth  centuries,  from  such  books 
as  we  have.  There  are  two  reasons  for  this.  One 
is  the  scarcity  of  literature,  excepting  historical  chron- 
icles, until  the  time  of  Boccaccio  and  the  Italian  story- 
tellers. The  other  is  the  fact  that  what  we  call  the 
Middle  Age  was  an  age  of  transition  from  barbarism 
to  the  civilization  of  the  Renascence,  and  the  Renas- 
cence was  reached  by  sweeping  away  all  the  barbarous 
things  that  had  gone  before  it. 

One  must  have  lived  a lifetime  in  Italy  to  be  able 
to  call  up  a fairly  vivid  picture  of  the  eleventh,  twelfth, 
or  thirteenth  centuries.  One  must  have  actually  seen 
the  grand  old  castles  and  gloomy  monasteries,  and 
feudal  villages  of  Calabria  and  Sicily,  where  all  things 
are  least  changed  from  what  they  were,  and  one  should 
understand  something  of  the  nature  of  the  Italian 
people,  where  the  original  people  have  survived;  one 
must  try  also  to  realize  the  violence  of  those  passions 
which  are  ugly  excrescences  on  Italian  character  even 
now,  and  which  were  once  the  main  movers  of  that 
character. 

There  are  extant  many  inventories  of  lordly  residences 
of  earlier  times  in  Italy,  for  the  inventory  was  taken 
every  time  the  property  changed  hands  by  inheritance 
or  sale.  Everyone  of  these  inventories  begins  at  the 
main  gate  of  the  stronghold,  and  the  first  item  is 
‘Rope  for  giving  the  cord.’  Now  ‘to  give  the  cord’ 


212 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


was  a torture,  and  all  feudal  lords  had  the  right 
to  inflict  it.  The  victim’s  hands  were  tied  behind  his 
back,  the  rope  was  made  fast  to  his  bound  wrists, 
and  he  was  hoisted  some  twenty  feet  or  so  to  the  heavy 
iron  ring  which  is  fixed  in  the  middle  of  the  arch  of 
every  old  Italian  castle  gateway ; he  was  then  allowed 
to  drop  suddenly  till  his  feet,  to  which  heavy  weights 
were  sometimes  attached,  were  a few  inches  from 
the  ground,  so  that  the  strain  of  his  whole  weight  fell 
upon  his  arms,  twisted  them  backwards,  and  generally 
dislocated  them  at  the  shoulders.  And  this  was  usu- 
ally done  three  times,  and  sometimes  twenty  times,  in 
succession,  to  the  same  prisoner,  either  as  a punishment 
or  by  way  of  examination,  to  extract  a confession  of  the 
truth.  As  the  rope  of  torture  was  permanently  rove 
through  the  pulley  over  the  front  door,  it  must  have 
been  impossible  not  to  see  it  and  remember  what  it 
meant  every  time  one  went  in  or  out.  And  such 
quick  reminders  of  danger  and  torture,  and  sudden, 
painful  death,  give  the  pitch  and  key  of  daily  exist- 
ence in  the  Middle  Age.  Every  man’s  life  was  in 
his  hand  until  it  was  in  his  enemy’s.  Every  man 
might  be  forced,  at  a moment’s  notice,  to  defend  not 
only  his  honour,  and  his  belongings,  and  his  life, 
but  his  women  and  children,  too,  — not  against  public 
enemies  only,  but  far  more  often  against  private  spite 
and  personal  hatred.  Nowadays,  when  most  men 
only  stake  their  money  on  their  convictions,  it  is  hard 


Colonna 


213 

to  realize  how  men  reasoned  who  staked  their  lives 
at  every  turn ; or  to  guess,  for  instance,  at  what  women 
felt  whose  husbands  and  sons,  going  out  for  a stroll 
of  an  afternoon,  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  might  as 
likely  as  not  be  brought  home  dead  of  a dozen  sword- 
wounds  before  evening.  A husband,  a father,  was 
stabbed  in  the  dark  by  treachery ; try  and  imagine 
the  daily  and  year-long  sensations  of  the  widowed 
mother,  bringing  up  her  only  son  deliberately  to  kill 
her  husband’s  murderer ; teaching  him  to  look  upon 
vengeance  as  the  first,  most  real  and  most  honourable 
aim  of  life,  from  the  time  he  was  old  enough  to  speak, 
to  the  time  when  he  should  be  strong  enough  to  kill. 
Everything  was  earnest  then.  One  should  remember 
that  most  of  the  stories  told  by  Boccaccio,  Sacchetti 
and  Bandello  — the  stories  from  which  Shakespeare  got 
his  Italian  plays,  his  Romeo  and  Juliet,  his  Merchant 
of  Venice  — were  not  inventions,  but  were  founded  on 
the  truth.  Everyone  has  read  about  Caesar  Borgia, 
his  murders,  his  treacheries  and  his  end,  and  he  is 
held  up  to  us  as  a type  of  monstrous  wickedness.  But 
a learned  Frenchman,  Emile  Gebhart,  has  recently 
written  a rather  convincing  treatise,  to  show  that 
Caesar  Borgia  was  not  a monster  at  all,  nor  even 
much  of  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  among  the 
Italian  despots  of  his  day,  and  his  day  was  civilized 
compared  with  that  of  Rienzi,  of  Boniface  the  Eighth, 
of  Sciarra  Colonna. 


214 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


In  order  to  understand  anything  about  the  real  life 
of  the  Middle  Age,  one  should  begin  at  the  beginning; 
one  should  see  the  dwellings,  the  castles,  and  the  palaces 
with  their  furniture  and  arrangements,  one  should  realize 
the  stern  necessities  as  well  as  the  few  luxuries  of  that 
time.  And  one  should  make  acquaintance  with  the 
people  themselves,  from  the  grey-haired  old  baron, 
the  head  of  the  house,  down  to  the  scullery  man  and 
the  cellarer’s  boy  and  the  stable  lads.  And  then,  know- 
ing something  of  the  people  and  their  homes,  one  might 
begin  to  learn  something  about  their  household  occu- 
pations, their  tremendously  tragic  interests  and  their 
few  and  simple  amusements. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  one  about  the  dwell- 
ings is  the  enormous  strength  of  those  that  remain. 
The  main  idea,  in  those  days,  when  a man  built  a 
house,  was  to  fortify  himself  and  his  belongings  against 
attacks  from  the  outside,  and  every  other  considera- 
tion was  secondary  to  that.  That  is  true  not  only  of 
the  Barons’  castles  in  the  country  and  of  their  fortified 
palaces  in  town,  — which  were  castles,  too,  for  that 
matter, — but  of  the  dwellings  of  all  classes  of  people 
who  could  afford  to  live  independently,  that  is,  who 
were  not  serfs  and  retainers  of  the  rich.  We  talk  of 
fire-proof  buildings  nowadays,  which  are  mere  shells 
of  iron  and  brick  and  stone  that  shrivel  up  like  writ- 
ing-paper in  a great  fire.  The  only  really  fire-proof 
buildings  were  those  of  the  Middle  Age,  which  con- 


Colon  na 


215 


sisted  of  nothing  but  stone  and  mortar  throughout, 
stone  walls,  stone  vaults,  stone  floors,  and  often  stone 
tables  and  stone  seats.  I once  visited  the  ancient  castle 
of  Muro,  in  the  Basilicata,  one  of  the  southern  provinces 
in  Italy,  where  Queen  Joanna  the  First  paid  her  life 
for  her  sins  at  last,  and  died  under  the  feather  pillow 
that  was  forced  down  upon  her  face  by  two  Hungarian 
soldiers.  It  is  as  wild  and  lonely  a place  as  you  will 
meet  with  in  Europe,  and  yet  the  great  castle  has  never 
been  a ruin,  nor  at  any  time  uninhabited,  since  it  was 
built  in  the  eleventh  century,  over  eight  hundred  years 
ago.  Nor  has  the  lower  part  of  it  ever  needed  repair. 
The  walls  are  in  places  twenty-five  feet  thick,  of  solid 
stone  and  mortar,  so  that  the  embrasure  by  which  each 
narrow  window  is  reached  is  like  a tunnel  cut  through 
rock,  while  the  deep  prisons  below  are  hewn  out  of  the 
rock  itself.  Up  to  what  we  should  call  the  third  story, 
every  room  is  vaulted.  Above  that  the  floors  are  laid 
on  beams,  and  the  walls  are  not  more  than  eight  feet 
thick  — comparatively  flimsy  for  such  a place!  Nine- 
tenths  of  it  was  built  for  strength  — the  small  remainder 
for  comfort ; there  is  not  a single  large  hall  in  all  the 
great  fortress,  and  the  courtyard  within  the  main  gate 
is  a gloomy,  ill-shaped  little  paved  space,  barely  big 
enough  to  give  fifty  men  standing  room.  Nothing  can 
give  any  idea  of  the  crookedness  of  it  all,  of  the  small 
dark  corridors,  the  narrow  winding  steps,  the  dusky 
inclined  ascents,  paved  with  broad  flagstones  that  echo 


21  6 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  lightest  tread,  and  that  must  have  rung  and  roared 
like  sea  caves  to  the  tramp  of  armed  men.  And  so 
it  was  in  the  cities,  too.  In  Rome,  bits  of  the  old 
strongholds  survive  still.  There  were  more  of  them 
thirty  years  ago.  Even  the  more  modern  palaces  of 
the  late  Renascence  are  built  in  such  a way  that  they 
must  have  afforded  a safe  refuge  against  everything 
except  artillery.  The  strong  iron-studded  doors  and 
the  heavily  grated  windows  of  the  ground  floor  would 
stand  a siege  from  the  street.  The  Palazzo  Gabrielli, 
for  two  or  three  centuries  the  chief  dwelling  of  the 
Orsini,  is  built  in  the  midst  of  the  city  like  a great 
fortification,  with  escarpments  and  buttresses  and  loop- 
holes ; and  at  the  main  gate  there  is  still  a portcullis 
which  sinks  into  the  ground  by  a system  of  chains  and 
balance  weights  and  is  kept  in  working  order  even  now. 

In  the  Middle  Age,  each  town  palace  had  one  or 
more  towers,  tall,  square  and  solid,  which  were  used 
as  lookouts  and  as  a refuge  in  case  the  rest  of  the 
palace  should  be  taken  by  an  enemy.  The  general 
principle  of  all  mediaeval  towers  was  that  they  were 
entered  through  a small  window  at  a great  height 
above  the  ground,  by  means  of  a jointed  wooden  ladder. 
Once  inside,  the  people  drew  the  ladder  up  after  them 
and  took  it  in  with  them,  in  separate  pieces.  When 
that  was  done,  they  were  comparatively  safe,  before  the 
age  of  gunpowder.  There  were  no  windows  to  break, 
it  was  impossible  to  get  in,  and  the  besieged  party 


/ 


Colonna 


217 


could  easily  keep  anyone  from  scaling  the  tower,  by 
pouring  boiling  oil  or  melted  lead  from  above,  or 
with  stones  and  missiles,  so  that  as  long  as  provisions 
and  water  held  out,  the  besiegers  could  do  nothing. 
As  for  water,  the  great  rainwater  cistern  was  always  in 
the  foundations  of  the  tower  itself,  immediately  under 
the  prison,  which  got  neither  light  nor  air  excepting 
from  a hole  in  the  floor  above.  Walls  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  feet  thick  could  not  be  battered  down  with  any 
engines  then  in  existence.  Altogether,  the  tower  was 
a safe  place  in  times  of  danger.  It  is  said  that  at 
one  time  there  were  over  four  hundred  of  these  in 
Rome,  belonging  to  the  nobles,  great  and  small. 

The  small  class  of  well-to-do  commoners,  the  mer- 
chants and  goldsmiths,  such  as  they  were,  who  stood 
between  the  nobles  and  the  poor  people,  imitated 
the  nobles  as  much  as  they  could,  and  strengthened 
their  houses  by  every  means.  For  their  dwellings  were 
their  warehouses,  and  in  times  of  disturbance  the  first 
instinct  of  the  people  was  to  rob  the  merchants,  unless 
they  chanced  to  be  strong  enough  to  rob  the  nobles,  as 
sometimes  happened.  But  in  Rome  the  merchants 
were  few,  and  were  very  generally  retainers  or  de- 
pendants of  the  great  houses.  It  is  frequent  in  the 
chronicles  to  find  a man  mentioned  as  the  ‘merchant* 
of  the  Colonna  family,  or  of  the  Orsini,  or  of  one  of 
the  independent  Italian  princes,  like  the  Duke  of 
Urbino.  Such  a man  acted  as  agent  to  sell  the 


2i8  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

produce  of  a great  estate ; part  of  his  business  was 
to  lend  money  to  the  owner,  and  he  also  imported 
from  abroad  the  scanty  merchandise  which  could  be 
imported  at  all.  About  half  of  it  usually  fell  into 
the  hands  of  highwaymen  before  it  reached  the 
city,  and  the  price  of  luxuries  was  proportionately 
high.  Such  men,  of  course,  lived  well,  though  there 
was  a wide  difference  between  their  mode  of  life 
and  that  of  the  nobles,  not  so  much  in  matters  of 
abundance  and  luxury,  as  in  principle.  The  chief 
rule  was  that  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  middle 
class  did  a certain  amount  of  housekeeping  work, 
whereas  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  nobles  did 
not.  The  burgher’s  wife  kept  house  herself,  over- 
looked the  cooking,  and  sometimes  cooked  a choice 
dish  with  her  own  hands,  and  taught  her  daughters 
to  do  so.  A merchant  might  have  a considerable 
retinue  of  men,  for  his  service  and  protection,  and 
they  carried  staves  when  they  accompanied  their 
master  abroad,  and  lanterns  at  night.  But  the  baron’s 
men  were  men-at-arms,  — practically  soldiers,  — who 
wore  his  colours,  and  carried  swords  and  pikes,  and  lit 
the  way  for  their  lord  at  night  with  torches,  always  the 
privilege  of  the  nobles.  As  a matter  of  fact,  they 
were  generally  the  most  dangerous  cutthroats  whom 
the  nobleman  was  able  to  engage,  highwaymen,  brig- 
ands and  outlaws,  whom  he  protected  against  the 
semblance  of  the  law ; whereas  the  merchant’s  train 


/ 


Colonna 


219 


consisted  of  honest  men  who  worked  for  him  in  his 
warehouse,  or  they  were  countrymen  from  his  farms, 
if  he  had  any. 

It  is  not  easy  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  those 
great  mediaeval  establishments,  except  by  their  analogy 
with  the  later  ones  that  came  after  them.  They  were 
enormous  in  extent,  and  singularly  uncomfortable  in 
their  internal  arrangement 

A curious  book,  published  in  1543,  and  therefore  at 
the  first  culmination  of  the  Renascence,  has  lately  been 
reprinted.  It  is  entitled  ‘ Concerning  the  management 
of  a Roman  Nobleman’s  Court,’  and  was  dedicated  to 
‘The  magnificent  and  Honourable  Messer  Cola  da 
Benevento,’  forty  years  after  the  death  of  the  Borgia 
Pope  and  during  the  reign  of  Paul  the  Third,  Farnese, 
who  granted  the  writer  a copyright  for  ten  years.  The 
little  volume  is  full  of  interesting  details,  and  the  at- 
tendant gentlemen  and  servants  enumerated  give  some 
idea  of  what  according  to  the  author  was  not  consid- 
ered extravagant  for  a nobleman  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. There  were  to  be  two  chief  chamberlains, 
a general  controller  of  the  estates,  a chief  steward, 
four  chaplains,  a master  of  the  horse,  a private 
secretary  and  an  assistant  secretary,  an  auditor,  a 
lawyer  and  four  literary  personages,  ‘ Letterati,’  who, 
among  them,  must  know  ‘the  four  principal  languages 
of  the  world,  namely,  Hebrew,  Greek,  Latin  and 
Italian.’  The  omission  of  every  other  living  lan- 


220 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


guage  but  the  latter,  when  Francis  the  First,  Charles 
the  Fifth  and  Henry  the  Eighth  were  reigning, 
is  pristinely  Roman  in  its  contempt  of  ‘barbarians.’ 
There  were  also  to  be  six  gentlemen  of  the  chambers, 
a private  master  of  the  table,  a chief  carver  and  ten 
waiting  men,  a butler  of  the  pantry  with  an  assistant, 
a butler  of  the  wines,  six  head  grooms,  a marketer  with 
an  assistant,  a storekeeper,  a cellarer,  a carver  for  the 
serving  gentlemen,  a chief  cook,  an  under  cook  and 
assistant,  a chief  scullery  man,  a water  carrier,  a 
sweeper,  — and  last  in  the  list,  a physician,  whom  the 
author  puts  at  the  end  of  the  list,  ‘ not  because  a doctor 
is  not  worthy  of  honour,  but  in  order  not  to  seem  to 
expect  any  infirmity  for  his  lordship  or  his  household.’ 
This  was  considered  a ‘sufficient  household’  for  a 
nobleman,  but  by  no  means  an  extravagant  one, 
and  many  of  the  officials  enumerated  were  provided 
with  one  or  .more  servants,  while  no  mention  is 
made  of  any  ladies  in  the  establishment  nor  of  the 
numerous  retinue  they  required.  But  one  remembers 
the  six  thousand  servants  of  Augustus,  all  honourably 
buried  in  one  place,  and  the  six  hundred  who  waited  on 
Livia  alone;  and  the  modest  one  hundred  and  seven 
which  were  reckoned  ‘sufficient’  for  the  Lord  Cola  of 
Benevento  sink  into  comparative  insignificance.  For 
Livia,  besides  endless  keepers  of  her  robes  and  folders 
of  her  clothes  — a special  office  — and  hairdressers, 
perfumers,  jewellers  and  shoe  keepers,  had  a special 


Colonna 


22  1 


adorner  of  her  ears,  a keeper  of  her  chair  and  a gov. 
erness  for  her  favourite  lap-dog. 

The  little  book  contains  the  most  complete  details 
concerning  daily  expenditure  for  food  and  drink  for 
the  head  of  the  house  and  his  numerous  gentlemen, 
which  amounted  in  a year  to  the  really  not  extravagant 
sum  of  four  thousand  scudi,  or  dollars,  over  fourteen 
hundred  being  spent  on  wine  alone.  The  allowance 
was  a jug  — rather  more  than  a quart  — of  pure  wine 
daily  to  each  of  the  ‘gentlemen,’  and  the  same  measure 
diluted  with  one-third  of  water  to  all  the  rest.  Sixteen 
ounces  of  beef,  mutton,  or  veal  were  reckoned  for 
every  person,  and  each  received  twenty  ounces  of  bread 
of  more  or  less  fine  quality,  according  to  his  station ; 
and  an  average  of  twenty  scudi  was  allowed  daily  as 
given  away  in  charity,  — which  was  not  ungenerous, 
either,  for  such  a household.  The  olive  oil  used  for  the 
table  and  for  lamps  was  the  same,  and  was  measured 
together,  and  the  household  received  each  a pound  of 
cheese,  monthly,  besides  a multitude  of  other  eatables, 
all  of  which  are  carefully  enumerated  and  valued. 
Among  other  items  of  a different  nature  are  ‘four  or 
five  large  wax  candles  daily,  for  his  lordship,’  and  wax 
for  torches  ‘to  accompany  the  dishes  brought  to  his 
table,  and  to  accompany  his  lordship  and  the  gentlemen 
out  of  doors  at  night,’  and  ‘candles  for  the  altar,’  and 
tallow  candles  for  use  about  the  house.  As  for  salaries 
and  wages,  the  controller  and  chief  steward  received 


2 2 2 


Ave  Roma  Immortal  is 


ten  scudi,  each  month,  whereas  the  chaplain  only 
got  two,  and  the  ‘ literary  men,’  who  were  expected  to 
know  Hebrew,  Greek  and  Latin,  were  each  paid  one 
hundred  scudi  yearly.  The  physician  was  required  to 
be  not  only  Teamed,  faithful,  diligent  and  affectionate,’ 
but  also  ‘fortunate’  in  his  profession.  Considering  the 
medical  practices  of  those  days,  a doctor  could  certainly 
not  hope  to  heal  his  patients  without  the  element  of  luck. 

The  old-fashioned  Roman  character  is  careful,  if  not 
avaricious,  with  occasional  flashes  of  astonishing  extrav- 
agance, and  its  idea  of  riches  is  so  closely  associated 
with  that  of  power  as  to  make  the  display  of  a numerous 
retinue  its  first  and  most  congenial  means  of  exhibiting 
great  wealth ; so  that  to  this  day  a Roman  in  reduced 
fortune  will  live  very  poorly  before  he  will  consent  to 
exist  without  the  two  or  three  superfluous  footmen  who 
loiter  all  day  in  his  hall,  or  the  handsome  equipage  in 
which  his  wife  and  daughters  are  accustomed  to  take 
the  daily  drive,  called  from  ancient  times,  the  ‘trottata,’ 
or  ‘trot,’  in  the  Villa  Borghese,  or  the  Corso,  or  on  the 
Pincio,  and  gravely  provided  for  in  the  terms  of  the 
marriage  contract.  At  a period  when  servants  were 
necessary,  not  only  for  show  but  also  for  personal  pro- 
tection, it  is  not  surprising  that  the  nobles  should  have 
kept  an  extravagant  number  of  them. 

Then  also,  to  account  for  the  size  of  Roman  palaces, 
there  was  the  patriarchal  system  of  life,  now  rapidly 
falling  into  disuse.  The  so-called  ‘ noble  floor  ’ of  every 


Colonna 


223 


mansion  is  supposed  to  be  reserved  exclusively  for  the 
father  and  mother  of  the  family,  and  the  order  of  arrang- 
ing the  rooms  is  as  much  a matter  of  rigid  rule  as  in 
the  houses  of  the  ancient  Romans,  where  the  vestibule 
preceded  the  atrium,  the  atrium  the  peristyle,  and  the 
latter  the  last  rooms  which  looked  upon  the  garden.  So 
in  the  later  palace,  the  door  from  the  first  landing  of 


PALAZZO  DI  MONTE  CITORIO 
From  a print  of  the  last  century 


the  grand  staircase  opens  upon  an  outer  hall,  uncarpeted, 
but  crossed  by  a strip  of  matting,  and  furnished  only 
with  a huge  table  and  old-fashioned  chests,  made  with 
high  backs,  on  which  are  painted  or  carved  the  arms  of 
the  family.  Here,  at  least  two  or  three  footmen  are 
supposed  to  be  in  perpetual  readiness  to  answer  the 
door,  the  lineally  descended  representatives  of  the 


224 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


armed  footmen  who  lounged  there  four  hundred  years 
ago.  Next  to  the  hall  comes  the  antechamber,  some- 
times followed  by  a second,  and  here  is  erected  the 
‘baldacchino,’  the  coloured  canopy  which  marks  the 
privilege  of  the  sixty  * conscript  families  ’ of  Rome,  who 
rank  as  princes.  It  recalls  the  times  when,  having 
powers  of  justice,  and  of  life  and  death,  the  lords  sat  in 
state  under  the  overhanging  silks,  embroidered  with 
their  coats  of  arms,  to  administer  the  law.  Beyond  the 
antechamber  comes  the  long  succession  of  state  apart- 
ments, lofty,  ponderously  decorated,  heavily  furnished 
with  old-fashioned  gilt  or  carved  chairs  that  stand  sym- 
metrically against  the  walls,  and  on  the  latter  are  hung 
pictures,  priceless  works  of  old  masters  beside  crude 
portraits  of  the  last  century,  often  arranged  much  more 
with  regard  to  the  frames  than  to  the  paintings.  Stiff- 
legged pier-tables  of  marble  and  alabaster  face  the  win- 
dows or  are  placed  between  them ; thick  curtains  that 
can  be  drawn  quite  back  cover  the  doors ; strips  of 
hemp  carpet  lead  straight  from  one  door  to  another; 
the  light  is  dim  and  cold,  half  shut  out  by  the  window 
curtains,  and  gets  a peculiar  quality  of  sadness  and 
chilliness,  which  is  essentially  characteristic  of  every 
old  Roman  house,  where  the  reception  rooms  are  only 
intended  to  be  used  at  night,  and  the  sunny  side  is 
exclusively  appropriated  to  the  more  intimate  life  of  the 
owners.  There  may  be  three,  four,  six,  ten  of  those  big 
drawing-rooms  in  succession,  each  covering  about  as 


/ 


Colonna 


225 


much  space  as  a small  house  in  New  York  or  London, 
before  one  comes  to  the  closed  door  that  gives  access  to 
the  princess’  boudoir,  beyond  which,  generally  return- 
ing in  a direction  parallel  with  the  reception  rooms,  is 
her  bedroom,  and  the  prince’s,  and  the  latter’s  study, 
and  then  the  private  dining-room,  the  state  dining-room, 
the  great  ballroom,  with  clear-story  windows,  and  as 
many  more  rooms  as  the  size  of  the  apartment  will 
admit.  In  the  great  palaces,  the  picture  gallery  takes 
a whole  wing  and  sometimes  two,  the  library  being  gen- 
erally situated  on  a higher  story. 

The  patriarchal  system  required  that  all  the  married 
sons,  with  their  wives  and  children  and  servants,  should 
be  lodged  in  the  same  building  with  their  parents.  The 
eldest  invariably  lived  on  the  second  floor,  the  second 
son  on  the  third,  which  is  the  highest,  though  there  is 
generally  a low  rambling  attic,  occupied  by  servants,  and 
sometimes  by  the  chaplain,  the  librarian  and  the  steward, 
in  better  rooms.  When  there  were  more  than  two  mar- 
ried sons,  which  hardly  ever  happened  under  the  old 
system  of  primogeniture,  they  divided  the  apartments  be- 
tween them  as  best  they  could.  The  unmarried  younger 
children  had  to  put  up  with  what  was  left.  More- 
over, in  the  greatest  houses,  where  there  was  usually  a 
cardinal  of  the  name,  one  wing  of  the  first  floor  was  en- 
tirely given  up  to  him  ; and  instead  of  the  canopy  in  the 
antechamber,  flanked  by  the  hereditary  coloured  um- 
brellas carried  on  state  occasions  by  two  lackeys  behind 


VOL.  1 


Q 


22  6 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  family  coach,  the  prince  of  the  Church  was  entitled 
to  a throne  room,  as  all  cardinals  are.  The  eldest  son’s 
apartment  was  generally  more  or  less  a repetition  of 
the  state  one  below,  but  the  rooms  were  lower,  the 
decorations  less  elaborate,  though  seldom  less  stiff  in 
character,  and  a large  part  of  the  available  space  was 
given  up  to  the  children. 

It  is  clear  from  all  this  that  even  in  modern  times  a 
large  family  might  take  up  a great  deal  of  room.  Look- 
ing back  across  two  or  three  centuries,  therefore,  to  the 
days  when  every  princely  household  was  a court,  and 
was  called  a court,  it  is  easier  to  understand  the  exist- 
ence of  such  phenomenally  vast  mansions  as  the  Doria 
palace,  or  those  of  the  Borghese,  the  Altieri,  the  Bar- 
berini  and  others,  who  lived  in  almost  royal  state,  and 
lodged  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  retainers  in  their 
homes. 

And  not  only  did  all  the  members  of  the  family  live 
under  one  roof,  as  a few  of  them  still  live,  but  the  cus- 
tom of  dining  together  at  one  huge  table  was  universal. 
A daily  dinner  of  twenty  persons  — grandparents, 
parents  and  children,  down  to  the  youngest  that  is 
old  enough  to  sit  up  to  its  plate  in  a high  chair, 
would  be  a serious  matter  to  most  European  households. 
But  in  Rome  it  was  looked  upon  as  a matter  of  course, 
and  was  managed  through  the  steward  by  a contract  with 
the  cook,  who  was  bound  to  provide  a certain  number  of 
dishes  daily  for  the  fixed  meals,  but  nothing  else  — not 


Colonna 


227 


so  much  as  an  egg  or  a slice  of  toast  beyond  that. 
This  system  still  prevails  in  many  households,  and 
as  it  is  to  be  expected  that  meals  at  unusual  hours  may 
sometimes  be  required,  an  elaborate  system  of  accounts 
is  kept  by  the  steward  and  his  clerks,  and  the  smallest 
things  ordered  by  any  of  the  sons  or  daughters  are 
charged  against  an  allowance  usually  made  them,  while 
separate  reckonings  are  kept  for  the  daughters-in-law, 
for  whom  certain  regular  pin-money  is  provided  out  of 
their  own  dowries  at  the  marriage  settlement,  all  of 
which  goes  through  the  steward’s  hands.  The  same 
settlement,  even  in  recent  years,  stipulated  for  a fixed 
number  of  dishes  of  meat  daily,  generally  only  two,  I 
believe,  for  a certain  number  of  new  gowns  and  other 
clothes,  and  for  a great  variety  of  details,  besides  the  use 
of  a carriage  every  day,  to  be  harnessed  not  more  than 
twice,  that  is,  either  in  the  morning  and  afternoon,  or 
once  in  the  daytime  and  once  at  night.  Everything,  — 
a cup  of  tea,  a glass  of  lemonade,  — if  not  mentioned  in 
the  marriage  settlement,  had  to  be  paid  for  separately. 
The  justice  of  such  an  arrangement  — for  it  is  just  — is 
only  equalled  by  its  inconvenience,  for  it  requires  the 
machinery  of  a hotel,  combined  with  an  honesty  not 
usual  in  hotels.  Undoubtedly,  the  whole  system  is 
directly  descended  from  the  practice  of  the  ancients, 
which  made  every  father  of  a family  the  absolute  despot 
of  his  household,  and  made  it  impossible  for  a son  to 
hold  property  or  have  any  individual  independence  dur- 


228 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


in g his  father’s  life,  and  it  has  not  been  perceptibly 
much  modified  since  the  Middle  Age,  until  the  last  few 
years.  Its  existence  shows  in  the  strongest  light  the 
main  difference  between  the  Latin  and  the  Anglo-Saxon 
races,  in  the  marked  tendency  of  the  one  to  submit  to 
despotic  government,  and  of  the  other  to  govern  itself  ; 
of  the  one  to  stay  at  home  under  paternal  authority,  and 
of  the  other  to  leave  the  father’s  house  and  plunder  the 
world  for  itself ; of  the  sons  of  the  one  to  accept  wives 
given  them,  and  of  the  other’s  children  to  marry  as  they 
please. 

Roman  family  life,  from  Romulus  to  the  year  1870, 
was  centred  in  the  head  of  the  house,  whose  position 
was  altogether  unassailable,  whose  requirements  were 
necessities,  and  whose  word  was  law.  Next  to  him  in 
place  came  the  heir,  who  was  brought  up  with  a view 
to  his  exercising  the  same  powers  in  his  turn.  After 
him,  but  far  behind  him  in  importance,  if  he  promised 
to  be  strong,  came  the  other  sons,  who,  if  they  took 
wives  at  all,  were  expected  to  marry  heiresses,  and  one 
of  whom,  almost  as  a matter  of  course,  was  brought  up 
to  be  a churchman.  The  rest,  if  there  were  any, 
generally  followed  the  career  of  arms,  and  remained 
unmarried;  for  heiresses  of  noble  birth  were  few,  and 
their  guardians  married  them  to  eldest  sons  of  great 
houses  whenever  possible,  while  the  strength  of  caste 
prejudice  made  alliances  of  nobles  with  the  daughters 
of  rich  plebeians  extremely  unusual. 


/ 


Colonna 


229 


It  is  possible  to  trace  the  daily  life  of  a Roman  family 
in  the  Middle  Age  from  its  regular  routine  of  today,  as 
out  of  what  anyone  may  see  in  Italy  the  habits  of  the 
ancients  can  be  reconstructed  with  more  than  approxi- 
mate exactness.  And  yet  it  is  out  of  the  question  to  fix 
the  period  of  the  general  transformation  which  ulti- 
mately turned  the  Rome  of  the  Barons  into  the  Rome 
of  Napoleon’s  time,  and  converted  the  high-handed 
men  of  Sciarra  Colonna’s  age  into  the  effeminate  fops 
of  1800,  when  a gentleman  of  noble  lineage,  having 
received  a box  on  the  ear  from  another  at  high  noon 
in  the  Corso,  willingly  followed  the  advice  of  his  con- 
fessor, who  counselled  him  to  bear  the  affront  with 
Christian  meekness  and  present  his  other  cheek  to  the 
smiter.  Customs  have  remained,  fashions  have  alto- 
gether changed;  the  outward  forms  of  early  living  have 
survived,  the  spirit  of  life  is  quite  another;  and  though 
some  families  still  follow  the  patriarchal  mode  of  exist- 
ence, the  patriarchs  are  gone,  the  law  no  longer  lends* 
itself  to  support  household  tyranny,  and  the  subdivision 
of  estates  under  the  Napoleonic  code  is  guiding  an 
already  existing  democracy  to  the  untried  issue  of  a 
problematic  socialism.  Without  attempting  to  establish 
a comparison  upon  the  basis  of  a single  cause,  where  so 
many  are  at  work,  it  is  permissible  to  note  that  while 
in  England  and  Germany  a more  or  less  voluntary 
system  of  primogeniture  is  admitted  and  largely  fol- 
lowed from  choice,  and  while  in  the  United  States  men 


230  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

are  almost  everywhere  entirely  free  to  dispose  of  their 
property  as  they  please,  and  while  the  population  and 
wealth  of  those  countries  are  rapidly  increasing,  France, 
enforcing  the  division  of  estates  among  children,  though 
she  is  accumulating  riches,  is  faced  by  the  terrible  fact 
of  a steadily  diminishing  census ; and  Italy,  under  the 
same  laws,  is  not  only  rapidly  approaching  national 
bankruptcy,  but  is  in  parts  already  depopulated  by  an 
emigration  so  extensive  that  it  can  only  be  compared 
with  the  westward  migration  of  the  Aryan  tribes.  The 
forced  subdivision  of  property  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration is  undeniably  a socialistic  measure,  since  it  must, 
in  the  end,  destroy  both  aristocracy  and  plutocracy ; 
and  it  is  surely  a notable  point  that  the  two  great 
European  nations  which  have  adopted  it  as  a funda- 
mental principle  of  good  government  should  both  be 
on  the  road  to  certain  destruction,  while  those  powers 
that  have  wholly  and  entirely  rejected  any  such  meas- 
ure are  filling  the  world  with  themselves  and  absorbing 
its  wealth  at  an  enormous  and  alarming  rate. 

The  art  of  the  Renascence  has  left  us  splendid 
pictures  of  mediaeval  public  life,  which  are  naturally 
accepted  as  equally  faithful  representations  of  the  life 
of  every  day.  Princes  and  knights,  in  gorgeous  robes 
and  highly  polished  armour,  ride  on  faultlessly  capari- 
soned milk-white  steeds ; wondrous  ladies  wear  not 
less  wonderful  gowns,  fitted  with  a perfection  which 
women  seek  in  vain  today,  and  embroidered  with 


/ 


Colonna 


231 


pearls  and  precious  stones  that  might  ransom  a rajah ; 
young  pages,  with  glorious  golden  hair,  stand  ready  at 
the  elbows  of  their  lords  and  ladies,  or  kneel  in  grace- 
ful attitude  to  deliver  a letter,  or  stoop  to  bear  a silken 
train,  clad  in  garments  which  the  modern  costumer 
strives  in  vain  to  copy.  After  three  or  four  centuries, 
the  colours  of  those  painted  silks  and  satins  are  still 
richer  than  anything  the  loom  can  weave.  In  the 
great  fresco,  each  individual  of  the  multitude  that 
fills  a public  place,  or  defiles  in  open  procession  under 
the  noonday  light,  is  not  only  a masterpiece  of  fashion, 
but  a model  of  neatness ; linen,  delicate  as  woven 
gossamer,  falls  into  folds  as  finely  exact  as  an 
engraver’s  point  could  draw ; velvet  shoes  tread  with- 
out speck  or  spot  upon  the  well-scoured  pavement  of 
a public  street;  men-at-arms  grasp  weapons  and  hold 
bridles  with  hands  as  carefully  tended  as  any  idle  fine 
gentleman’s,  and  there  is  neither  fleck  nor  breath  of 
dimness  on  the  mirror-like  steel  of  their  armour ; the 
very  flowers,  the  roses  and  lilies  that  strew  the  way, 
are  the  perfection  of  fresh-cut  hothouse  blossoms ; and 
when  birds  and  beasts  chance  to  be  necessary  to  the 
composition  of  the  picture,  they  are  represented  with  no 
less  care  for  a more  than  possible  neatness,  their  coats 
are  combed  and  curled,  their  attitudes  are  studied  and 
graceful,  they  wear  carefully  made  collars,  ornamented 
with  chased  silver  and  gold. 

Centuries  have  dimmed  the  wall-painting,  sunshine 


1 


232  Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

has  faded  it,  mould  has  mottled  the  broad  surfaces  of 
red  and  blue  and  green,  and  a later  age  has  done  away 
with  the  dresses  represented ; yet,  when  the  frescos 
in  the  library  of  the  Cathedral  at  Siena,  for  instance, 
were  newly  finished,  they  were  the  fashion-plates  of 
the  year  and  month,  executed  by  a great  artist,  it  is 
true,  grouped  with  matchless  skill  and  drawn  with 
supreme  mastery  of  art,  but  as  far  from  representing 
the  ordinary  scenes  of  daily  life  as  those  terrible  col- 
oured prints  published  nowadays  for  tailors,  in  which 
a number  of  beautiful  young  gentlemen,  in  perfectly 
new  clothes,  lounge  in  stage  attitudes  on  the  one  side, 
and  an  equal  number  of  equally  beautiful  young  but- 
lers, coachmen,  grooms  and  pages,  in  equally  perfect 
liveries,  appear  to  be  discussing  the  aesthetics  of  an 
ideal  and  highly  salaried  service,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  same  room.  In  the  comparison  there  is  all  the 
brutal  profanity  of  truth  that  shocks  the  reverence  of 
romance ; but  in  the  respective  relations  of  the  great 
artist’s  masterpiece  and  of  the  poor  modern  litho- 
graph to  the  realities  of  each  period,  there  is  the  clue 
to  the  daily  life  of  the  Middle  Age. 

Living  was  outwardly  rough  as  compared  with  the 
representations  of  it,  though  it  was  far  more  refined 
than  in  any  other  part  of  Europe,  and  Italy  long  set  the 
fashion  to  the  world  in  habits  and  manners.  People 
kept  their  fine  clothes  for  great  occasions,  there  was 
a keeper  of  robes  in  every  large  household,  and  there 


Colon  na 


233 


were  rooms  set  apart  for  the  purpose.  In  every-day 
life,  the  Barons  wore  patched  hose  and  leathern  jerkins, 
stained  and  rusted  by  the  joints  of  the  armour  that  was 
so  often  buckled  over  them,  or  they  went  about  their 
dwellings  in  long  dressing-gowns  which  hid  many 
shortcomings.  When  gowns,  and  hose,  and  jerkins 
were  well  worn,  they  were  cut  down  for  the  boys  of  the 
family,  and  the  fine  dresses,  only  put  on  for  great  days, 
were  preserved  as  heirlooms  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration, whether  they  fitted  the  successive  wearers  or 
not.  The  beautiful  tight-fitting  hose  which,  in  the  paint- 
ings of  the  time,  seem  to  fit  like  theatrical  tights,  were 
neither  woven  nor  knitted,  but  were  made  of  stout 
cloth,  and  must  often  have  been  baggy  at  the  knees  in 
spite  of  the  most  skilful  cutting;  and  the  party-col- 
oured hose,  having  one  leg  of  one  piece  of  stuff  and 
one  of  another,  and  sometimes  each  leg  of  two  or  more 
colours,  were  very  likely  first  invented  from  motives  of 
economy,  to  use  up  cuttings  and  leavings.  Clothes 
were  looked  upon  as  permanent  and  very  desirable 
property,  and  kings  did  not  despise  a gift  of  fine  scarlet 
cloth,  in  the  piece,  to  make  them  a gown  or  a cloak. 
As  for  linen,  as  late  as  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Eng- 
lish thought  the  French  nobles  very  extravagant  be- 
cause they  put  on  a clean  shirt  once  a fortnight  and 
changed  their  ruffles  once  a week. 

The  mediaeval  Roman  nobles  were  most  of  them 
great  farmers  as  well  as  fighters.  Then,  as  now,  land 


234 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


was  the  ultimate  form  of  property,  and  its  produce  the 
usual  form  of  wealth  ; and  then,  as  now,  many  families 
were  ‘land-poor,’  in  the  sense  of  owning  tracts  of 
country  which  yielded  little  or  no  income  but  repre- 
sented considerable  power,  and  furnished  the  owners 
with  most  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  such  rents  as  were 


PALAZZO  DI  VENEZIA 


collected  being  usually  paid  in  kind,  in  oil  and  wine,  in 
grain,  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  even  in  salt  meat,  and 
horses,  cattle  for  slaughtering  and  beasts  of  burden, 
not  to  speak  of  wool,  hemp  and  flax,  as  well  as  fire- 
wood. But  money  was  scarce  and,  consequently,  all 
the  things  which  only  money  could  buy,  so  that  a gown 
was  a possession,  and  a corselet  or  a good  sword  a 


Colonna 


235 

treasure.  The  small  farmer  of  our  times  knows  what  it 
means  to  have  plenty  to  eat  and  little  to  wear.  His 
position  is  not  essentially  different  from  that  of  the 
average  landed  gentry  in  the  Middle  Age,  not  only 
in  Italy,  but  all  over  Europe.  In  times  when  superior- 
ity lay  in  physical  strength,  courage,  horsemanship  and 
skill  in  the  use  of  arms,  the  so-called  gentleman  was  not 
distinguished  from  the  plebeian  by  the  newness  or  neat- 
ness of  his  clothes  so  much  as  by  the  nature  and  quality 
of  the  weapons  he  wore  when  he  went  abroad  in  peace 
or  war,  and  very  generally  by  being  mounted  on  a good 
horse. 

In  his  home  he  was  simple,  even  primitive.  He  de- 
sired space  more  than  comfort,  and  comfort  more  than 
luxury.  His  furniture  consisted  almost  entirely  of  beds, 
chests  and  benches,  with  few  tables  except  such  as 
were  needed  for  eating.  Beds  were  supported  by  boards 
laid  on  trestles,  raised  very  high  above  the  floor  to  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  rats,  mice  and  other  creatures. 
The  lower  mattress  was  filled  with  the  dried  leaves  of 
the  maize,  and  the  upper  one  contained  wool,  with 
which  the  pillows  also  were  stuffed.  The  floors  of 
dwelling  rooms  were  generally  either  paved  with  bricks 
or  made  of  a sort  of  cement,  composed  of  lime,  sand 
and  crushed  brick,  the  whole  being  beaten  down  with 
iron  pounders,  while  in  the  moist  state,  during  three 
days.  There  were  no  carpets,  and  fresh  rushes  were 
strewn  everywhere  on  the  floors,  which  in  summer  were 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


236 

first  watered,  like  a garden  path,  to  lay  the  dust. 
There  was  no  glass  in  the  windows  of  ordinary  rooms, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  during  the  daytime  peo- 
ple lived  almost  in  the  open  air,  in  winter  as  well  as 
summer  ; sunshine  was  a necessity  of  existence,  and 
sheltered  courts  and  cloistered  walks  were  built  like 
reservoirs  for  the  light  and  heat. 

In  the  rooms,  ark-shaped  chests  stood  against  the 
walls,  to  contain  the  ordinary  clothes  not  kept  in 
the  general  ‘ guardaroba.’  In  the  deep  embrasures  of 
the  windows  there  were  stone  seats,  but  there  were  few 
chairs,  or  none  at  all,  in  the  bedrooms.  At  the  head 
of  each  bed  hung  a rough  little  cross  of  dark  wood  — 
later,  as  carving  became  more  general,  a crucifix  — and 
a bit  of  an  olive  branch  preserved  from  Palm  Sunday 
throughout  the  year.  The  walls  themselves  were 
scrupulously  whitewashed ; the  ceilings  were  of  heavy 
beams,  supporting  lighter  cross-beams,  on  which  in 
turn  thick  boards  were  laid  to  carry  the  cement  floor 
of  the  room  overhead. 

Many  hundred  men-at-arms  could  be  drawn  up  in 
the  courtyards,  and  their  horses  stalled  in  the  spacious 
stables.  The  kitchens,  usually  situated  on  the  ground 
floor,  were  large  enough  to  provide  meals  for  half  a 
thousand  retainers,  if  necessary ; and  the  cellars  and 
underground  prisons  were  a vast  labyrinth  of  vaulted 
chambers,  which  not  unfrequently  communicated  with 
the  Tiber  by  secret  passages.  In  restoring  the  palace 


/ 


Colonna 


237 


of  the  Santacroce,  a few  years  ago,  a number  of 
skeletons  were  discovered,  some  still  wearing  armour, 
and  all  most  evidently  the  remains  of  men  who  had 
died  violent  deaths.  One  of  them  was  found  with  a 
dagger  driven  through  the  skull  and  helmet.  The 
hand  that  drove  it  must  have  been  strong  beyond  the 
hands  of  common  men. 

The  grand  staircase  led  up  from  the  sunny  court 
to  the  state  apartments,  such  as  they  were  in  those 
days.  There,  at  least,  there  were  sometimes  carpets, 
luxuries  of  enormous  value,  and  even  before  the 
Renascence  the  white  walls  were  hung  with  tapestries, 
at  least  in  part.  In  those  times,  too,  there  were  large 
fireplaces  in  almost  every  room,  for  fuel  was  still 
plentiful  in  the  Campagna  and  in  the  near  mountains ; 
and  where  the  houses  were  practically  open  to  the 
air  all  day,  fires  were  an  absolute  necessity.  Even 
in  ancient  times  it  is  recorded  that  the  Roman  Senate, 
amidst  the  derisive  jests  of  the  plebeians,  once  had 
to  adjourn  on  account  of  the  extreme  cold.  People 
rose  early  in  the  Middle  Age,  dined  at  noon,  slept 
in  the  afternoon  when  the  weather  was  warm,  and 
supped,  as  a rule,  at  * one  hour  of  the  night,’  that  is 
to  say  an  hour  after  ‘ Ave  Maria,’  which  was  rung  half 
an  hour  after  sunset,  and  was  the  end  of  the  day 
of  twenty-four  hours.  Noon  was  taken  from  the  sun, 
but  did  not  fall  at  a regular  hour  of  the  clock,  and 
never  fell  at  twelve.  In  winter,  for  instance,  if  the 


238 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Ave  Maria  bell  rang  at  half-past  five  of  our  modern 
time,  the  noon  of  the  following  day  fell  at  ‘half-past 
eighteen  o’clock  ’ by  the  mediaeval  clocks.  In  summer, 
it  might  fall  as  early  as  three  quarters  past  fifteen ; 
and  this  manner  of  reckoning  time  was  common  in 
Rome  thirty-five  years  ago,  and  is  not  wholly  unprac- 
tised in  some  parts  of  Italy  still. 

It  was  always  an  Italian  habit,  and  a very  healthy 
one,  to  get  out  of  doors  immediately  on  rising,  and 
to  put  off  making  anything  like  a careful  toilet  till  a 
much  later  hour.  Breakfast,  as  we  understand  it,  is  an 
unknown  meal  in  Italy,  even  now.  Most  people  drink 
a cup  of  black  coffee,  standing ; many  eat  a morsel 
of  bread  or  biscuit  with  it  and  get  out  of  doors  as  soon 
as  they  can ; but  the  greediness  of  an  Anglo-Saxon 
breakfast  disgusts  all  Latins  alike,  and  two  set  meals 
daily  are  thought  to  be  enough  for  anyone,  as  indeed 
they  are.  The  hard-working  Italian  hill  peasant  will 
sometimes  toast  himself  a piece  of  corn  bread  before 
going  to  work,  and  eat  it  with  a few  drops  of  olive 
oil ; and  in  the  absence  of  tea  or  coffee,  the  people 
of  the  Middle  Age  often  drank  a mouthful  of  wine 
on  rising  to  ‘ move  the  blood,’  as  they  said.  But  that 
was  all. 

Every  mediaeval  palace  had  its  chapel,  which  was 
sometimes  an  adjacent  church  communicating  with 
the  house,  and  in  many  families  it  is  even  now  the 
custom  to  hear  the  short  low  Mass  at  a very  early  hour. 


/ 


Colonna 


239 


But  probably  nothing  can  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
idleness  of  the  Middle  Age,  when  the  day  was  once 
begun.  Before  the  Renascence,  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  study,  and  there  were  hardly  any  pastimes 
except  gambling  and  chess,  both  of  which  the  girls 
and  youths  of  the  Decameron  seem  to  have  included 
in  one  contemptuous  condemnation  when  they  elected 
to  spend  their  time  in  telling  stories.  The  younger 
men  of  the  household,  of  course,  when  not  actually 
fighting,  passed  a certain  number  of  hours  in  the 
practice  of  horsemanship  and  arms ; but  the  only  real 
excitement  they  knew  was  in  love  and  war,  the  latter 
including  everything  between  the  battles  of  the  Popes 
and  Emperors,  and  the  street  brawls  of  private  ene- 
mies, which  generally  drew  blood  and  often  ended 
in  a death. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  idea  of  ‘ housekeeping  ’ 
as  the  chief  occupation  of  the  Baron’s  wife  ever 
entered  into  the  Roman  mind.  In  northern  coun- 
tries there  has  always  been  more  equality  between 
men  and  women,  more  respect  for  woman  as  an 
intelligent  being,  and  less  care  for  her  as  a valuable 
possession  to  be  guarded  against  possible  attacks  from 
without.  In  Rome  and  the  south  of  Italy  the  women 
in  a great  household  were  carefully  separated  from 
the  men,  and  beyond  the  outer  halls  in  which  visitors 
were  received,  business  transacted  and  politics  dis- 
cussed, there  were  closed  doors,  securely  locked,  lead- 


240 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


in g to  the  women’s  apartments  beyond.  In  every 
Roman  palace  and  fortress  there  was  a revolving 
‘ dumb-waiter  ’ between  the  women’s  quarters  and 
the  men’s,  called  the  ‘wheel,’  and  used  as  a means 
of  communication.  Through  this  the  household  sup- 
plies were  daily  handed  in,  for  the  cooking  was  very 
generally  done  by  women,  and  through  the  same 
machine  the  prepared  food  was  passed  out  to  the 
men,  the  wheel  being  so  arranged  that  men  and 
women  could  not  see  each  other,  though  they  might 
hear  each  other  speak.  To  all  intents  and  purposes 
the  system  was  oriental  and  the  women  were  shut  up 
in  a harem.  The  use  of  the  dumb-waiter  survived 
the  revolution  in  manners  under  the  Renascence,  and 
the  wheel  itself  remains  as  a curiosity  of  past  times 
in  more  than  one  Roman  dwelling  today.  It  had 
its  uses  and  was  not  a piece  of  senseless  tyranny. 
In  order  to  keep  up  an  armed  force  for  all  emergen- 
cies the  Baron  took  under  his  protection  as  men-at- 
arms  the  most  desperate  ruffians,  outlaws  and  outcasts 
whom  he  could  collect,  mostly  men  under  sentence  of 
banishment  or  death  for  highway  robbery  and  murder, 
whose  only  chance  of  escaping  torture  and  death  lay 
in  risking  life  and  limb  for  a master  strong  enough 
to  defy  the  law,  the  ‘ bargello  ’ and  the  executioner,  in 
his  own  house  or  castle,  where  such  henchmen  were 
lodged  and  fed,  and  were  controlled  by  nothing  but 
fear  of  the  Baron  himself,  of  his  sons,  when  they  were 


Colonna 


241 


grown  up,  and  of  his  poorer  kinsmen  who  lived  with 
him.  There  were  no  crimes  which  such  malefactors 
had  not  committed,  or  were  not  ready  to  commit  for  a 
word,  or  even  for  a jest.  The  women,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  in  the  first  place  the  ladies  and  daughters 
of  the  house,  and  of  kinsmen,  brought  up  in  almost 
conventual  solitude,  when  they  were  not  actually 
educated  in  convents ; and,  secondly,  young  girls  from 
the  Baron’s  estates  who  served  for  a certain  length  of 
time,  and  were  then  generally  married  to  respectable 
retainers.  The  position  of  twenty  or  thirty  women 
and  girls  under  the  same  roof  with  several  hundreds 
of  the  most  atrocious  cutthroats  of  any  age  was  un- 
deniably such  as  to  justify  the  most  tyrannical 
measures  for  their  protection. 

There  are  traces,  even  now,  of  the  enforced  privacy 
in  which  they  lived.  For  instance,  no  Roman  lady  of 
today  will  ever  show  herself  at  a window  that  looks  on 
the  street,  except  during  Carnival,  and  in  most  houses 
something  of  the  old  arrangement  of  rooms  is  still  pre- 
served, whereby  the  men  and  women  occupy  different 
parts  of  the  house. 

One  must  try  to  call  up  the  pictures  of  one  day,  to  get 
any  idea  of  those  times ; one  must  try  and  see  the  grey 
dawn  stealing  down  the  dark,  unwindowed  lower  walls 
of  the  fortress  that  flanks  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Apostles,  — the  narrow  and  murky  street  below,  the 
broad,  dim  space  beyond,  the  mystery  of  the  winding 


VOL. 


R 


242 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


distances  whence  comes  the  first  sound  of  the  day,  the 
far,  high  cry  of  the  waterman  driving  his  little  donkey 
with  its  heavy  load  of  water-casks.  The  beast  stumbles 
along  in  the  foul  gloom,  through  the  muddy  ruts,  over 
heaps  of  garbage  at  the  corners,  picking  its  way  as  best 
it  can,  till  it  starts  with  a snort  and  almost  falls  with  its 
knees  upon  a dead  man,  whose  thrice-stabbed  body  lies 
right  across  the  way.  The  waterman,  ragged,  sandal- 
shod,  stops,  crosses  himself,  and  drags  his  beast  back 
hurriedly  with  a muttered  exclamation  of  mingled  hor- 
ror, disgust  and  fear  for  himself,  and  makes  for  the 
nearest  corner,  stumbling  along  in  his  haste  lest  he 
should  be  found  with  the  corpse  and  taken  for  the  mur- 
derer. As  the  dawn  forelightens,  and  the  cries  go  up 
from  the  city,  the  black-hooded  Brothers  of  Prayer  and 
Death  come  in  a little  troop,  their  lantern  still  burning 
as  they  carry  their  empty  stretcher,  seeking  for  dead 
men ; and  they  take  up  the  poor  nameless  body  and 
bear  it  away  quickly  from  the  sight  of  the  coming 
day. 

Then,  as  they  disappear,  the  great  bell  of  the  Apostles’ 
Church  begins  to  toll  the  morning  Angelus,  half  an  hour 
before  sunrise,  — three  strokes,  then  four,  then  five, 
then  one,  according  to  ancient,  custom,  and  then  after 
a moment’s  silence,  the  swinging  peal  rings  out,  taken 
up  and  answered  from  end  to  end  of  the  half-wasted 
city.  A troop  of  men-at-arms  ride  up  to  the  great 
closed  gate  ‘in  rusty  armour  marvellous  ill-favoured,’ 


/ 


Colonna 


243 


as  Shakespeare’s  stage  direction  has  it,  mud-splashed, 
their  brown  cloaks  half  concealing  their  dark  and  war- 
worn mail,  their  long  swords  hanging  down  and  clank- 
ing against  their  huge  stirrups,  their  beasts  jaded  and 
worn  and  filthy  from  the  night  raid  in  the  Campagna, 
or  the  long  gallop  from  Palestrina.  The  leader  pounds 
three  times  at  the  iron-studded  door  with  the  hilt  of 
his  dagger,  a sleepy  porter,  grey-bearded  and  cloaked, 
slowly  swings  back  one  half  of  the  gate  and  the  ruf- 
fians troop  in,  followed  by  the  waterman  who  has 
gone  round  the  fortress  to  avoid  the  dead  body.  The 
gate  shuts  again,  with  a long  thundering  rumble.  High 
up,  wooden  shutters,  behind  which  there  is  no  glass, 
are  thrown  open  upon  the  courtyard,  and  one  window 
after  another  is  opened  to  the  morning  air;  on  one 
side,  girls  and  women  look  out,  muffled  in  dark  shawls; 
from  the  other  grim,  unwashed,  bearded  men  call  down 
to  their  companions,  who  have  dismounted  and  are 
unsaddling  their  weary  horses,  and  measuring  out  a 
little  water  to  them,  where  water  is  a thing  of  price. 

The  leader  goes  up  into  the  house  to  his  master, 
to  tell  him  of  the  night’s  doings,  and  while  he  speaks 
the  Baron  sits  in  a great  wooden  chair,  in  his  long  gown 
of  heavy  cloth,  edged  with  coarse  fox’s  fur,  his  feet  in 
fur  slippers,  and  a shabby  cap  upon  his  head,  but  a 
manly  and  stern  figure,  all  the  same,  slowly  munching 
a piece  of  toasted  bread  and  sipping  a few  drops  of  old 
white  wine  from  a battered  silver  cup. 


244 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Then  Mass  in  the  church,  the  Baron,  his  kinsmen, 
the  ladies  and  the  women  kneeling  in  the  high  gal. 
lery  above  the  altar,  the  men-at-arms  and  men-ser- 
vants and  retainers  crouching  below  on  the  stone 
pavement ; a dusky  multitude,  with  a gleam  of  steel 
here  and  there,  and  red  flashing  eyes  turned  up  with 
greedy  longing  towards  the  half-veiled  faces  of  the 
women,  met  perhaps,  now  and  then,  by  a furtive 
answering  glance  from  under  a veil  or  hoodlike 
shawl,  for  every  woman’s  head  is  covered,  but  of 
the  men  only  the  old  lord  wears  his  cap,  which  he 
devoutly  lifts  at  ‘Gloria  Patri’  and  ‘Verbum  Caro,’ 
and  at  ‘ Sanctus  ’ and  at  the  consecration.  It  is  soon 
over,  and  the  day  is  begun,  for  the  sun  is  fully 
risen  and  streams  through  the  open  unglazed  win- 
dows as  the  maids  sprinkle  water  on  the  brick  floors, 
and  sweep  and  strew  fresh  rushes,  and  roll  back  the 
mattresses  on  the  trestle  beds,  which  are  not  made 
again  till  evening.  In  the  great  courtyard,  the  men 
lead  out  the  horses  and  mount  them  bareback  and 
ride  out  in  a troop,  each  with  his  sword  by  his  side, 
to  water  them  at  the  river,  half  a mile  away,  for  not 
a single  public  fountain  is  left  in  Rome;  and  the 
grooms  clean  out  the  stables,  while  the  peasants  come 
in  from  the  country,  driving  mules  laden  with  pro- 
visions for  the  great  household,  and  far  away,  behind 
barred  doors,  the  women  light  the  fires  in  the  big 
kitchen. 


/■ 


Colonna 


245 


Later  again,  the  children  of  the  noble  house  are 
taught  to  ride  and  fence  in  the  open  court ; splendid 
boys  with  flowing  hair,  bright  as  gold  or  dark  as 
night,  dressed  in  rough  hose  and  leathern  jerkin, 
bright-eyed,  fearless,  masterful  already  in  their  play 
as  a lion’s  whelps,  watched  from  an  upper  window  by 
their  lady  mother  and  their  little  sisters,  and  not  soon 
tired  of  saddle  or  sword  — familiar  with  the  grooms 
and  men  by  the  great  common  instinct  of  fighting,  but 
as  far  from  vulgar  as  Polonius  bade  Laertes  learn  to 
be. 

So  morning  warms  to  broad  noon,  and  hunger 
makes  it  dinner-time,  and  the  young  kinsmen  who 
have  strolled  abroad  come  home,  one  of  them  with 
his  hand  bound  up  in  a white  rag  that  has  drops  of 
blood  on  it,  for  he  has  picked  a quarrel  in  the  street 
and  steel  has  been  out,  as  usual,  though  no  one  has 
been  killed,  because  the  ‘bargello’  and  his  men  were 
in  sight,  down  there  near  the  Orsini’s  theatre-fortress. 
And  at  dinner  when  the  priest  has  blessed  the  table, 
the  young  men  laugh  about  the  scrimmage,  while  the 
Baron  himself,  who  has  killed  a dozen  men  in  battle, 
with  his  own  hand,  rebukes  his  sons  and  nephews  with 
all  the  useless  austerity  which  worn-out  age  wears  in 
the  face  of  unbroken  youth.  The  meal  is  long,  and 
they  eat  much,  for  there  will  be  nothing  more  till  night; 
they  eat  meat  broth,  thick  with  many  vegetables  and 
broken  bread  and  lumps  of  boiled  meat,  and  there 


246 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


are  roasted  meats  and  huge  earthen  bowls  of  salad, 
and  there  is  cheese  in  great  blocks,  and  vast  quanti- 
ties of  bread,  with  wine  in  abundance,  poured  for 
each  man  by  the  butler  into  little  earthen  jugs  from 
big  earthenware  flagons.  They  eat  from  trenchers 
of  wood,  well  scoured  with  ashes ; forks  they  have 
none,  and  most  of  the  men  use  their  own  knives  or 
daggers  when  they  are  not  satisfied  with  the  carving 
done  for  them  by  the  carver.  Each  man,  when  he 
has  picked  a bone,  throws  it  under  the  table  to  the 
house-dogs  lying  in  wait  on  the  floor,  and  from  time 
to  time  a basin  is  passed  and  a little  water  poured 
upon  the  fingers.  The  Baron  has  a napkin  of  his 
own ; there  is  one  napkin  for  all  the  other  men ; the 
women  generally  eat  by  themselves  in  their  own  apart- 
ments, the  so-called  ‘gentlemen’  in  the  ‘tinello,’  and 
the  men-at-arms  and  grooms,  and  all  the  rest,  in  the 
big  lower  halls  near  the  kitchens,  whence  their  food 
is  passed  out  to  them  through  the  wheel. 

After  dinner,  if  it  be  summer  and  the  weather  hot, 
the  gates  are  barred,  the  windows  shut,  and  the  whole 
household  sleeps.  Early  or  late,  as  the  case  may  be,  the 
lords  and  ladies  and  children  take  the  air,  guarded  by 
scores  of  mounted  men,  riding  towards  that  part  of  the 
city  where  they  may  neither  meet  their  enemies  nor 
catch  a fever  in  the  warm  months.  In  rainy  weather 
they  pass  the  time  as  they  can,  with  telling  of  many 
tales,  short,  dramatic  and  strong  as  the  framework  of  a 


Colonna 


247 


good  play,  with  music,  sometimes,  and  with  songs,  and 
with  discussing  of  such  news  as  there  may  be  in  such 
times.  And  at  dusk  the  great  bells  ring  to  even-song, 
the  oil  lamp  is  swung  up  in  the  great  staircase,  the 
windows  and  gates  are  shut  again,  the  torches  and 
candles  and  little  lamps  are  lit  for  supper,  and  at  last, 
with  rushlights,  each  finds  the  way  along  the  ghostly 
corridors  to  bed  and  sleep.  That  was  the  day’s  round, 
and  there  was  little  to  vary  it  in  more  peaceful  times. 

Over  all  life  there  was  the  hopeless,  resentful  dulness 
that  oppressed  men  and  women  till  it  drove  them  half 
mad,  to  the  doing  of  desperate  things  in  love  and  war; 
there  was  the  everlasting  restraint  of  danger  without 
and  of  forced  idleness  within  — danger  so  constant  that 
it  ceased  to  be  exciting  and  grew  tiresome,  idleness  so 
oppressive  that  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death  were 
a relief  from  the  inactivity  of  sluggish  peace  ; a state 
in  which  the  mind  was  no  longer  a moving  power  in 
man,  but  only  by  turns  the  smelting  pot  and  the  anvil 
of  half-smothered  passions  that  now  and  then  broke 
out  with  fire  and  flame  and  sword  to  slash  and  burn 
the  world  with  a history  of  unimaginable  horror. 

That  was  the  Middle  Age  in  Italy.  A poorer  race 
would  have  gone  down  therein  to  a bloody  destruction  ; 
but  it  was  out  of  the  Middle  Age  that  the  Italians  were 
born  again  in  the  Renascence.  It  deserved  the  name. 


REGION  IV  CAMPO  MARZO 

It  was  harvest  time  when  the  Romans  at  last  freed 
themselves  from  the  very  name  of  Tarquin.  In  all  the 
great  field,  between  the  Tiber  and  the  City,  the  corn 
stood  high  and  ripe,  waiting  for  the  sickle,  while  Brutus 
did  justice  upon  his  two  sons,  and  upon  the  sons  of  his 
sister,  and  upon  those  ‘very  noble  youths,’  still  the 
Tarquins’  friends,  who  laid  down  their  lives  for  their 
mistaken  loyalty  and  friendship,  and  for  whose  devotion 
no  historian  has  ever  been  brave  enough,  or  generous 
enough,  to  say  a word.  It  has  been  said  that  revolu- 
tion is  patriotism  when  it  succeeds,  treason  when  it 
fails,  and  in  the  converse,  more  than  one  brave  man  has 
died  a traitor’s  death  for  keeping  faith  with  a fallen 
king.  Successful  revolution  denied  those  young 
royalists  the  charitable  handful  of  earth  and  the  four 

248 


Campo  Marzo 


249 


words  of  peace  — - 4 sit  eis  terra  levis  ’ — that  should 
have  laid  their  unquiet  ghosts,  and  the  brutal  cyni- 
cism of  history  has  handed  down  their  names  to  the 
perpetual  execration  of  mankind. 

The  corn  stood  high  in  the  broad  field  which  the 
Tarquins  had  taken  from  Mars  and  had  ploughed 
and  tilled  for  generations.  The  people  went  out  and 
reaped  the  crop,  and  bound  it  in  sheaves  to  be  threshed 
for  the  public  bread,  but  their  new  masters  told  them 
that  it  would  be  impious  to  eat  what  had  been  meant 
for  kings,  and  they  did  as  was  commanded  to  them, 
meekly,  and  threw  all  into  the  river.  Sheaf  upon 
sheaf,  load  upon  load,  the  yellow  stream  swept  away 
the  yellow  ears  and  stalks,  down  to  the  shallows, 
where  the  whole  mass  stuck  fast,  and  the  seeds  took 
root  in  the  watery  mud,  and  the  stalks  rotted  in  great 
heaps,  and  the  island  of  the  Tiber  was  first  raised 
above  the  level  of  the  water.  Then  the  people  burned 
the  stubble  and  gave  back  the  land  to  Mars,  calling  it 
the  Campus  Martius,  after  him. 

There  the  young  Romans  learned  the  use  of  arms, 
and  were  taught  to  ride ; and  under  sheds  there  stood 
those  rows  of  wooden  horses,  upon  which  youths 
learned  to  vault,  without  step  or  stirrup,  in  their  armour 
and  sword  in  hand.  There  they  ran  foot-races  in  the 
clouds  of  dust  whirled  up  from  the  dry  ground,  and 
threw  the  discus  by  the  twisted  thong  as  the  young 
men  of  the  hills  do  today,  and  the  one  who  could 


250 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


reach  the  goal  with  the  smallest  number  of  throws  was 
the  winner,  — there,  under  the  summer  sun  and  in  the 
biting  wind  of  winter,  half  naked,  and  tough  as  wolves, 
the  boys  of  Rome  laboured  to  grow  up  and  be  Roman 
men. 

There,  also,  the  great  assemblies  were  held,  the 
public  meetings  and  the  elections,  when  the  people  voted 
by  passing  into  the  wooden  lists  that  were  called 
‘ Sheepfolds,’  till  Julius  Caesar  planned  the  great 
marble  portico  for  voting,  and  Agrippa  finished  it, 
making  it  nearly  a mile  round ; and  behind  it,  on  the 
west  side,  a huge  space  was  kept  open  for  centuries, 
called  the  Villa  Publica,  where  the  censors  numbered 
the  people.  The  ancient  Campus  took  in  a wide  extent 
of  land,  for  it  included  everything  outside  the  Servian 
wall,  from  the  Colline  Gate  to  the  river.  All  that 
visibly  bears  its  name  today  is  a narrow  street  that 
runs  southward  from  the  western  end  of  San  Lorenzo 
in  Lucina.  The  Region  of  Campo  Marzo,  however,  is 
still  one  of  the  largest  in  the  city,  including  all  that 
lies  within  the  walls  from  Porta  Pinciana,  by  Capo  le 
Case,  Via  Frattina,  Via  di  Campo  Marzo  and  Via  della 
Stelletta,  past  the  Church  of  the  Portuguese  and  the 
Palazzo  Moroni,  — known  by  Hawthorne’s  novel  as 
‘ Hilda’s  Tower,’ — and  thence  to  the  banks  of  the  Tiber. 

From  the  Renascence  until  the  recent  extension 
of  the  city  on  the  south  and  southeast,  this  Region 
was  the  more  modern  part  of  Rome.  In  the  Middle 


/ 


Campo  Marzo 


25 1 


Age  it  was  held  by  the  Colonna,  who  had  forti- 


fied the  tomb  of  Augustus 
Later  it  became  the 
Lombards  established 
Church  of  Saint 
the  English,  near 
with  the  strange  spiral 
University  of  the 
lived  in  the  Via  de’ 


and  one  or  two  other  ruins, 
strangers’  quarter.  The 
themselves  near  the 
Charles,  in  the  Corso ; 
Saint  Ives,  the  little  church 
tower,  built  against  the 
Sapienza;  the  Greeks 
Greci  ; the  Burgundians 
in  the  Via  Borgognona, 
and  thence  to  San  Claudio, 


PIAZZA  DI  SPAGNA 


where  they  had  their  Hospice ; and  so  on,  almost  every 
nationality  being  established  in  a colony  of  its  own ; 
and  the  English  visitors  of  today  are  still  inclined  to 


252 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


think  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  the  most  central  point  of 
Rome,  whereas  to  Romans  it  seems  to  be  very  much 
out  of  the  way. 

The  tomb  of  Augustus,  which  served  as  the  model 
for  the  greater  Mausoleum  of  Hadrian,  dominated  the 
Campus  Martius,  and  its  main  walls  are  still  standing, 
though  hidden  by  many  modern  houses.  The  tomb 
of  the  Julian  Caesars  rose  on  white  marble  founda- 
tions, a series  of  concentric  terraces,  planted  with 
cypress  trees,  to  the  great  bronze  statue  of  Augustus 
that  crowned  the  summit.  Here  rested  the  ashes  of 
Augustus,  of  the  young  Marcellus,  of  Livia,  of  Tiberius, 
of  Caligula,  and  of  many  others  whose  bodies  were 
burned  in  the  family  Ustrinum  near  the  tomb  itself. 
Plundered  by  Alaric,  and  finally  ruined  by  Robert 
Guiscard,  when  he  burnt  the  city,  it  became  a fortress 
under  the  Colonna,  and  is  included,  with  the  fortress  of 
Monte  Citorio,  in  a transfer  of  property  made  by  one 
member  of  the  family  to  another  in  the  year  1252. 
Ruined  at  last,  it  became  a bull  ring  in  the  last  century 
and  in  the  beginning  of  this  one,  when  Leo  the  Twelfth 
forbade  bull-fighting.  Then  it  was  a theatre,  the  scene 
of  Salvini’s  early  triumphs.  Today  it  is  a circus,  digni- 
fied by  the  name  of  the  reigning  sovereign. 

Few  people  know  that  bull-fights  were  common  in 
Rome  eighty  years  ago.  The  indefatigable  Baracconi 
once  talked  with  the  son  of  the  last  bull-fighter.  So 
far  as  one  may  judge,  it  appears  that  during  the  Middle 


/ 


Campo  Marzo 


253 


Age,  and  much  later,  it  was  the  practice  of  butchers  to 
bait  animals  in  their  own  yards,  before  slaughtering 
them,  in  the  belief  that  the  cruel  treatment  made  the 
meat  more  tender,  and  they  admitted  the  people  to  see 
the  sport.  From  this  to  a regular  arena  was  but  a step, 
and  no  more  suitable  place  than  the  tomb  of  the  Caesars 
could  be  found  for  the  purpose.  A regular  manager 
took  possession  of  it,  provided  the  victims,  both  bulls 
and  Roman  buffaloes,  and  hired  the  fighters.  It  does 
not  appear  that  the  beasts  were  killed  during  the 
entertainment,  and  one  of  the  principal  attractions  was 
the  riding  of  the  maddened  bull  three  times  round 
the  circus ; savage  dogs  were  also  introduced,  but  in 
all  other  respects  the  affair  was  much  like  a Spanish 
bull-fight,  and  quite  as  popular ; when  the  chosen  bulls 
were  led  in  from  the  Campagna,  the  Roman  princes 
used  to  ride  far  out  to  meet  them  with  long  files  of 
mounted  servants  in  gala  liveries,  coming  back  at  night 
in  torchlight  procession.  And  again,  after  the  fight  was 
over,  the  circus  was  illuminated,  and  there  was  a small 
display  of  Bengal  lights,  while  the  fashionable  world  of 
Rome  met  and  gossiped  away  the  evening  in  the  arena, 
happily  thoughtless  and  forgetful  of  all  the  spot  had 
been  and  had  meant  in  history. 

The  new  Rome  sinks  out  of  sight  below  the  level 
of  the  old,  as  one  climbs  the  heights  of  the  Janiculum 
on  the  west  of  the  city,  or  the  gardens  of  the  Pincio  on 
the  east.  The  old  monuments  and  the  old  churches 


254 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


still  rise  above  the  dreary  wastes  of  modern  streets,  and 
from  the  spot  whence  Messalina  looked  down  upon 
the  cypresses  of  the  first  Emperor’s  mausoleum,  the 
traveller  of  today  descries  the  cheap  metallic  roof 
which  makes  a circus  of  the  ancient  tomb. 

For  it  was  in  the  gardens  of  Lucullus  that  Mark 
Antony’s  great-grandchild  felt  the  tribune’s  sword  in 
her  throat,  and  in  the  neat  drives  and  walks  of  the 
Pincio,  where  pretty  women  in  smart  carriages  laugh 
over  today’s  gossip  and  tomorrow’s  fashion,  and  the 
immaculate  dandy  idles  away  an  hour  and  a cigarette, 
the  memory  of  Messalina  calls  up  a tragedy  of  shades. 
Less  than  thirty  years  after  Augustus  had  breathed  out 
his  old  age  in  peace,  Rome  was  ruled  again  by  terror 
and  blood,  and  the  triumph  of  a woman’s  sins  was  the 
beginning  of  the  end  of  the  Julian  race.  The  great 
historian  who  writes  of  her  guesses  that  posterity  may 
call  the  truth  a fable,  and  tells  the  tale  so  tersely  and 
soberly  from  first  to  last,  that  the  strength  of  his  words 
suggests  a whole  mystery  of  evil.  Without  Tiberius, 
there  could  have  been  no  Messalina,  nor,  without  her, 
could  Nero  have  been  possible;  and  the  worst  of  the 
three  is  the  woman  — the  archpriestess  of  all  conceiv- 
able crime.  Tacitus  gives  Tiberius  one  redeeming 
touch.  Often  the  old  Emperor  came  almost  to  Rome, 
even  to  the  gardens  by  the  Tiber,  and  then  turned 
back  to  the  rocks  of  Capri  and  the  solitude  of  the  sea, 
in  mortal  shame  of  his  monstrous  deeds,  as  if  not  dar- 


/■ 


Campo  Marzo 


255 


ing  to  show  himself  in  the  city.  With  Nero,  the 
measure  was  full,  and  the  world  rose  and  destroyed 
him.  Messalina  knew  no  shame,  and  the  Romans 
submitted  to  her,  and  but  for  a court  intrigue  and  a 
frightened  favourite  she  might  have  lived  out  her  life 
unhurt.  In  the  eyes  of  the  historian  and  of  the  people 
of  her  time  her  greatest  misdeed  was  that  while  her 
husband  Claudius,  the  Emperor,  was  alive  she  publicly 
celebrated  her  marriage  with  the  handsome  Silius, 
using  all  outward  legal  forms.  Our  modern  laws  of 
divorce  have  so  far  accustomed  our  minds  to  such 
deeds  that,  although  we  miss  the  legal  formalities  which 
would  necessarily  precede  such  an  act  in  our  time,  we 
secretly  wonder  at  the  effect  it  produced  upon  the  men 
of  that  day,  and  are  inclined  to  smile  at  the  epithets 
of  * impious’  and  * sacrilegious  ’ which  it  called  down 
upon  Messalina,  whose  many  other  frightful  crimes  had 
elicited  much  more  moderate  condemnation.  Claudius, 
himself  no  novice  or  beginner  in  horrors,  hesitated 
long,  after  he  knew  the  truth,  and  it  was  the  favourite 
Narcissus  who  took  upon  himself  to  order  the 
Empress’  death.  Euodus,  his  freedman,  and  a trib- 
une of  the  guard  were  sent  to  make  an  end  of  her. 
Swiftly  they  went  up  to  the  gardens  — the  gardens  of 
the  Pincian  — and  there  they  found  her,  beautiful,  dark, 
dishevelled,  stretched  upon  the  marble  floor,  her  mother 
Lepida  crouching  beside  her,  her  mother,  who  in  the 
bloom  of  her  daughter’s  evil  life  had  turned  from  her, 


256 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


but  in  her  extreme  need  was  overcome  with  pity. 
There  knelt  Domitia  Lepida,  urging  the  terror-mad 
woman  not  to  wait  the  executioner,  since  life  was  over 
and  nothing  remained  but  to  lend  death  the  dignity  of 
suicide.  But  the  dishonoured  self  was  empty  of  cour- 
age, and  long-drawn  weeping  choked  her  useless 
lamentations.  Then  suddenly  the  doors  were  flung 
open  with  a crash,  and  the  stern  tribune  stood  silent 
in  the  hall,  while  the  freedman  Euodus  screamed  out 
curses,  after  the  way  of  triumphant  slaves.  From  her 
mother’s  hand  the  lost  Empress  took  the  knife  at  last 
and  trembling  laid  it  to  her  breast  and  throat,  with 
weakly  frantic  fingers  that  could  not  hurt  herself ; 
the  silent  tribune  killed  her  with  one  straight  thrust, 
and  when  they  brought  the  news  to  Claudius  sitting  at 
supper,  and  told  him  that  Messalina  had  perished,  his 
face  did  not  change,  and  he  said  nothing  as  he  held  out 
his  cup  to  be  filled. 

She  died  somewhere  on  the  Pincian  hill.  Romance 
would  choose  the  spot  exactly  where  the  nunnery  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  stands,  at  the  Trinita  de’  Monti,  looking 
down  De  Sanctis’  imposing  * Spanish  ’ steps ; and  the 
house  in  which  the  noble  girls  of  modern  Rome  are 
sent  to  school  may  have  risen  upon  the  foundations  of 
Messalina’s  last  abode.  Or  it  may  be  that  the  place 
was  further  west,  in  the  high  grounds  of  the  French 
Academy,  or  on  the  site  of  the  academy  itself,  at  the 
gates  of  the  public  garden,  just  where  the  old  stone 


OJOdOl  J3d  AXSAId 


257 


Campo  Marzo 

fountain  bubbles  and  murmurs  under  the  shade  of  the 
thick  ilex  trees.  Most  of  that  land  once  belonged  to 
Lucullus,  the  conqueror  of  Mithridates,  the  Academic 
philosopher,  the  arch  feaster,  and  the  man  who  first 
brought  cherries  to  Italy. 


TRINITA  DE’  MONTI 

The  last  descendant  of  Julia,  the  last  sterile  monster 
of  the  Julian  race,  Nero,  was  buried  at  the  foot  of  the 
same  hill.  Alive,  he  was  condemned  by  the  Senate  to 
be  beaten  to  death  in  the  Comitium ; dead  by  his  own 
hand,  he  received  imperial  honours,  and  his  ashes 
rested  for  a thousand  years  where  they  had  been  laid 
by  his  two  old  nurses  and  a woman  who  had  loved  him. 


VOL. 


s 


258 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


And  during  ten  centuries  the  people  believed  that  his 
terrible  ghost  haunted  the  hill,  attended  and  served  by- 
thousands  of  demon  crows  that  rested  in  the  branches 
of  the  trees  about  his  tomb,  and  flew  forth  to  do  evil  at 
his  bidding,  till  at  last  Pope  Paschal  the  Second  cut 
down  with  his  own  hands  the  walnut  trees  which 
crowned  the  summit,  and  commanded  that  the  mauso- 
leum should  be  destroyed,  and  the  ashes  of  Nero  scat- 
tered to  the  winds,  that  he  might  build  a parish  church 
on  the  spot  and  dedicate  it  to  Saint  Mary.  It  is  said, 
too,  that  the  Romans  took  the  marble  urn  in  which  the 
ashes  had  been,  and  used  it  as  a public  measure  for  salt 
in  the  old  market-place  of  the  Capitol.  A number  of 
the  rich  Romans  of  the  Renascence  afterwards  con- 
tributed money  to  the  restoration  of  the  church  and 
built  themselves  chapels  within  it,  as  tombs  for  their 
descendants,  so  that  it  is  the  burial-place  of  many  of 
those  wealthy  families  that  settled  in  Rome  and  took 
possession  of  the  Corso  when  the  Barons  still  held  the 
less  central  parts  of  the  city  with  their  mediaeval  for- 
tresses. Sixtus  the  Fourth  and  Julius  the  Second  are 
buried  in  Saint  Peter’s,  but  their  chapel  was  here,  and 
here  lie  others  of  the  della  Rovere  race,  and  many  of 
the  Chigi  and  Pallavicini  and  Theodoli ; and  here,  in 
strange  coincidence,  Alexander  the  Sixth,  the  worst  of 
the  Popes,  erected  a high  altar  on  the  very  spot  where 
the  worst  of  the  Emperors  had  been  buried.  It  is  gone 
now,  but  the  strange  fact  is  not  forgotten. 


Campo  Marzo 


259 


Far  across  the  beautiful  square,  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Corso,  twin  churches  seem  to  guard  the  way 
like  sentinels,  built,  it  is  said,  to  replace  two  chapels 
which  once  stood  at  the  head  of  the  bridge  of  Sant’ 
Angelo;  demolished  because,  when  Rome  was  sacked 
by  the  Constable  of  Bourbon,  they  had  been  held  as 
important  points  by  the  Spanish  soldiers  in  besieging 
the  Castle,  and  it  was  not  thought  wise  to  leave  such 
useful  outworks  for  any  possible  enemy  in  the  future. 
Alexander  the  Seventh,  the  Chigi  Pope,  died,  and  left 
the  work  unfinished;  and  a folk  story  tells  how  a poor 
old  woman  who  lived  near  by  saved  what  she  could 
for  many  years,  and,  dying,  left  one  hundred  and  fifty 
scudi  to  help  the  completion  of  the  buildings ; and 
Cardinal  Gastaldi,  who  had  been  refused  the  privilege 
of  placing  his  arms  upon  a church  which  he  had 
desired  to  build  in  Bologna,  and  was  looking  about  for 
an  opportunity  of  perpetuating  his  name,  finished  the 
two  churches,  his  attention  having  been  first  called  to 
them  by  the  old  woman’s  humble  bequest. 

As  for  the  Pincio  itself,  and  the  ascent  to  it  from  the 
Piazza  del  Popolo,  all  that  land  was  but  a grass-grown 
hillside,  crowned  by  a few  small  and  scattered  villas 
and  scantily  furnished  with  trees,  until  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century ; and  the  public  gardens  of  the 
earlier  time  were  those  of  the  famous  and  beautiful 
Villa  Medici,  which  Napoleon  the  First  bestowed  upon 
the  French  Academy.  It  was  there  that  the  fashion- 


26o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


able  Romans  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen- 
turies used  to  meet,  and  walk,  and  be  carried  about  in 
gilded  sedan-chairs,  and  flirt,  and  gossip,  and  exchange 
views  on  politics  and  opinions  about  the  latest  scandal. 
That  was  indeed  a very  strange  society,  further  from 
us  in  many  ways  than  the  world  of  the  Renascence, 
or  even  of  the  Crusades ; for  the  Middle  Age  was 
strong  in  the  sincerity  of  its  beliefs,  as  we  are  powerful 
in  the  cynicism  of  our  single-hearted  faith  in  riches ; 
but  the  fabric  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries  was  founded  upon  the  abuse  of  an  already 
declining  power;  it  was  built  up  in  the  most  extraor- 
dinary and  elaborate  affectation,  and  it  was  guarded 
by  a system  of  dissimulation  which  outdid  that  of  our 
own  day  by  many  degrees,  and  possibly  surpassed  the 
hypocrisy  of  any  preceding  age. 

No  one,  indeed,  can  successfully  uphold  the  idea  that 
the  high  development  of  art  in  any  shape  is  of  necessity 
coincident  with  a strong  growth  of  religion  or  moral 
conviction.  Perugino  made  no  secret  of  being  an  atheist; 
Lionardo  da  Vinci  was  a scientific  sceptic;  Raphael  was 
an  amiable  rake,  no  better  and  no  worse  than  the  ma- 
jority of  those  gifted  pupils  to  whom  he  was  at  once  a 
model  of  perfection  and  an  example  of  free  living ; and 
those  who  maintain  that  art  is  always  the  expression  of 
a people’s  religion  have  but  an  imperfect  acquaintance 
with  the  age  of  Praxiteles,  Apelles  and  Zeuxis.  Yet 
the  idea  itself  has  a foundation,  lying  in  something 


Campo  Marzo 


261 


which  is  as  hard  to  define  as  it  is  impossible  to  ignore ; 
for  if  art  be  not  a growth  out  of  faith,  it  is  always  the 
result  of  a faith  that  has  been,  since  although  it  is  pos- 
sible to  conceive  of  religion  without  art,  it  is  out  of  the 
question  to  think  of  art  as  a whole,  without  a religious 
origin ; and  as  the  majority  of  writers  find  it  easier  to 
describe  scenes  and  emotions,  when  a certain  lapse  of 
time  has  given  them  what  painters  call  atmospheric 
perspective,  so  the  Renascence  began  when  memory 
already  clothed  the  ferocious  realism  of  mediaeval  Chris- 
tianity in  the  softer  tones  of  gentle  chivalry  and  tender 
romance.  It  is  often  said,  half  in  jest,  that,  in  order  to 
have  intellectual  culture,  a man  must  at  least  have  for- 
gotten Latin,  if  he  cannot  remember  it,  because  the 
fact  of  having  learned  it  leaves  something  behind  that 
cannot  be  acquired  in  any  other  way.  Similarly,  I 
think  that  art  of  all  sorts  has  reached  its  highest  level 
in  successive  ages  when  it  has  aimed  at  recalling,  by  an 
illusion,  a once  vivid  reality  from  a not  too  distant  past. 
And  so  when  it  gives  itself  up  to  the  realism  of  the  pres- 
ent, it  impresses  the  senses  rather  than  the  thoughts, 
and  misses  its  object,  which  is  to  bring  within  our  mental 
reach  what  is  beyond  our  physical  grasp ; and  when,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  goes  back  too  far,  it  fails  in  execution, 
because  its  models  are  not  only  out  of  sight,  but  out  of 
mind,  and  it  cannot  touch  us  because  we  can  no  longer 
feel  even  a romantic  interest  in  the  real  or  imaginary 
events  which  it  attempts  to  describe. 


262 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


The  subject  is  too  high  to  be  lightly  touched,  and  too 
wide  to  be  touched  more  than  lightly  here ; but  in  this 
view  of  it  may  perhaps  be  found  some  explanation  of 
the  miserable  poverty  of  Italian  art  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  foreshadowed  by  the  decadence  of  the  seven- 
teenth, which  again  is  traceable  to  the  dissipation  of 
force  and  the  disappearance  of  individuality  that  fol- 
lowed the  Renascence,  as  inevitably  as  old  age  follows 
youth.  Besides  all  necessary  gifts  of  genius,  the  devel- 
opment of  art  seems  to  require  that  a race  should  not 
only  have  leisure  for  remembering,  but  should  also  have 
something  to  remember  which  may  be  worthy  of  being 
recalled  and  perhaps  of  being  imitated.  Progress  may 
be  the  road  to  wealth  and  health,  and  to  such  happiness 
as  may  be  derived  from  both ; but  the  advance  of  civili- 
zation is  the  path  of  thought,  and  its  landmarks  are  not 
inventions  nor  discoveries,  but  those  very  great  cre- 
ations of  the  mind  which  ennoble  the  heart  in  all  ages ; 
and  as  the  idea  of  progress  is  inseparable  from  that  of 
growing  riches,  so  is  the  true  conception  of  civilization 
indivisible  from  thoughts  of  beauty  and  nobility.  In 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  Italy  had 
almost  altogether  lost  sight  of  these  ; art  was  execrable, 
fashion  was  hideous,  morality  meant  hypocrisy;  the 
surest  way  to  power  lay  in  the  most  despicable  sort  of 
intrigue,  and  inward  and  spiritual  faith  was  as  rare  as 
outward  and  visible  devoutness  was  general. 

That  was  the  society  which  frequented  the  Villa 


Campo  Marzo 


263 


Medici  on  fine  afternoons,  and  it  is  hard  to  see  wherein 
its  charm  lay,  if,  indeed,  it  had  any.  Instead  of  origi- 
nality, its  conversation  teemed  with  artificial  convention- 
alisms; instead  of  nature,  it  exhibited  itself  in  the 
disguise  of  fashions  more  inconvenient,  uncomfortable 
and  ridiculous  than  those  of  any  previous  or  later  times ; 
it  delighted  in  the  impossibly  nonsensical  ‘ pastoral  ’ 
verses  which  we  find  too  silly  to  read  ; and  in  place  of 
wit,  it  clothed  gross  and  cruel  sayings  in  a thin  remnant 
of  worn-out  classicism.  It  had  not  the  frankly  wicked 
recklessness  of  the  French  aristocracy  between  Lewis 
the  Fourteenth  and  the  Revolution,  nor  the  changing 
contrasts  of  brutality,  genius,  affectation  and  Puritanical 
austerity  which  marked  England’s  ascent,  from  the 
death  of  Edward  the  Sixth  to  the  victories  of  Nelson 
and  Wellington ; still  less  had  it  any  of  those  real 
motives  for  existence  which  carried  Germany  through 
her  long  struggle  for  life.  It  had  little  which  we  are 
accustomed  to  respect  in  men  and  women,  and  yet  it 
had  something  which  we  lack  today,  and  which  we 
unconsciously  envy  — it  had  a colour  of  its  own. 
Wandering  under  the  ancient  ilexes  of  those  sad  and 
beautiful  gardens,  meeting  here  and  there  a few  silent 
and  soberly  clad  strangers,  one  cannot  but  long  for  the 
brilliancy  of  two  centuries  ago,  when  the  walks  were 
gay  with  brilliant  dresses,  and  gilded  chairs,  and  ser- 
vants in  liveries  of  scarlet  and  green  and  gold,  and 
noble  ladies,  tottering  a few  steps  on  their  ridiculous 


264 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


high  heels,  and  men  bewigged  and  becurled,  their  use- 
less little  hats  under  their  arms,  and  their  embroidered 
coat  tails  flapping  against  their  padded,  silk-stockinged 
calves ; and  red-legged,  unpriestly  Cardinals  who  were 
not  priests  even  in  name,  but  only  the  lay  life-peers  of 
the  Church;  and  grave  Bishops  with  their  secretaries; 
and  laughing  abbes,  whose  clerical  dress  was  the  ac- 
customed uniform  of  government  office,  which  they  still 
wore  when  they  were  married,  and  were  fathers  of 
families.  There  is  little  besides  colour  to  recommend 
the  picture,  but  at  least  there  is  that. 

The  Pincian  hill  has  always  been  the  favourite  home 
of  artists  of  all  kinds,  and  many  lived  at  one  time  or 
another  in  the  little  villas  that  once  stood  there,  and  in 
the  houses  in  the  Via  Sistina  and  southward,  and  up 
towards  the  Porta  Pinciana.  Guido  Reni,  the  Caracci, 
Salvator  Rosa,  Poussin,  Claude  Lorrain,  have  all  left 
the  place  the  association  of  their  presence,  and  the  Zuc- 
cheri  brothers  built  themselves  the  house  which  still 
bears  their  name,  just  below  the  one  at  the  corner  of 
the  Trinita  de’  Monti,  known  to  all  foreigners  as  the 
‘ Tempietto  ’ or  little  temple.  But  the  Villa  Medici 
stands  as  it  did  long  ago,  its  walls  uninjured,  its  trees 
grander  than  ever,  its  walks  unchanged.  Soft-hearted 
Baracconi,  in  love  with  those  times  more  than  with  the 
Middle  Age,  speaks  half  tenderly  of  the  people  who 
used  to  meet  there,  calling  them  collectively  a gay 
and  light-hearted  society,  gentle,  idle,  full  of  graceful 


Campo  Marzo 


265 


thoughts  and  delicate  perceptions,  brilliant  reflections 
and  light  charms;  he  regrets  the  gilded  chairs,  the 
huge  built-up  wigs,  the  small  sword  of  the  ‘ cavalier 
servente,’  and  the  abbe’s  silk  mantle,  the  semi-platonic 
friendships,  the  jests  borrowed  from  Goldoni,  the 


VILLA  MEDICI 


pliments  and  madrigals  and  epigrams,  and  all  the  brill- 
iant powdered  train  of  that  extinct  world. 

Whatever  life  may  have  been  in  those  times,  that 
world  died  in  a pretty  tableau,  after  the  manner  of  Wat- 
teau’s paintings ; it  meant  little  and  accomplished  little, 
and  though  its  bright  colouring  brings  it  for  a moment 
to  the  foreground,  it  has  really  not  much  to  do  with  the 
Rome  we  know  nor  with  the  Rome  one  thinks  of  in 


266 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  past,  always  great,  always  sad,  always  tragic,  as 
no  other  city  in  the  world  can  ever  be. 

Ignorance,  tradition,  imagination,  romance,  — call  it 
what  you  will,  — has  chosen  the  long-closed  Pincian 
Gate  for  the  last  station  of  blind  Belisarius.  There, 
says  the  tale,  the  ancient  conqueror,  the  banisher  and 
maker  of  Popes,  the  favourite  and  the  instrument  of  im- 
perial Theodora,  stood  begging  his  bread  at  the  gate  of 
the  city  he  had  won  and  lost,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of 
the  fair  girl  child  who  would  not  leave  him,  and  stretch- 
ing forth  his  hand  to  those  that  passed  by,  with  a feeble 
prayer  for  alms,  pathetic  as  CEdipus  in  the  utter  ruin  of 
his  life  and  fortune.  A truer  story  tells  how  Pope  Sil- 
verius,  humble  and  gentle,  and  hated  by  Theodora,  went 
up  to  the  Pincian  villa  to  answer  the  accusation  of  con- 
spiring with  the  Goths,  when  he  himself  had  opened  the 
gates  of  Rome  to  Belisarius ; and  how  he  was  led  into  the 
great  hall  where  the  warrior’s  wife,  Theodora’s  friend, 
the  beautiful  and  evil  Antonina,  lay  with  half-closed 
eyes  upon  her  splendid  couch,  while  Belisarius  sat 
beside  her  feet,  toying  with  her  jewels.  There  the  hus- 
band and  wife  accused  the  Pope,  and  judged  him  with- 
out hearing,  and  condemned  him  without  right;  and 
they  caused  him  to  be  stripped  of  his  robes,  and  clad  as 
a poor  monk  and  driven  out  to  far  exile,  that  they  might 
set  up  the  Empress  Theodora’s  Pope  in  his  place ; and 
with  him  they  drove  out  many  Roman  nobles. 

And  it  is  said  that  when  Silverius  was  dead  of  a 


Campo  Marzo 


267 


broken  heart  in  the  little  island  of  Palmaria,  Belisarius 
repented  of  his  deeds  and  built  the  small  Church  of 
Santa  Maria  de’  Crociferi,  behind  the  fountain  of  Trevi, 
in  partial  expiation  of  his  fault,  and  there,  to  prove  the 
truth  of  the  story,  the  tablet  that  tells  of  his  repentance 
has  stood  nearly  fourteen  hundred  years  and  may  be 
read  today,  on  the  east  wall,  towards  the  Via  de’  Poli. 
The  man  who  conquered  Africa  for  Justinian,  seized 
Sicily,  took  Rome,  defended  it  successfully  against  the 
Goths,  reduced  Ravenna,  took  Rome  from  the  Goths 
again,  and  finally  rescued  Constantinople,  was  dis- 
graced more  than  once;  but  he  was  not  blinded,  nor 
did  he  die  in  exile  or  in  prison,  for  at  the  end  he 
breathed  his  last  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  freedom  and 
his  honours ; and  the  story  of  his  blindness  is  the  fab- 
rication of  an  ignorant  Greek  monk  who  lived  six 
hundred  years  later  and  confounded  Justinian’s  great 
general  with  the  romantic  and  unhappy  John  of  Cap- 
padocia, who  lived  at  the  same  time,  was  a general  at 
the  same  time,  and  incurred  the  displeasure  of  that 
same  pious,  proud,  avaricious  Theodora,  actress,  peni- 
tent and  Empress,  whose  paramount  beauty  held  the 
Emperor  in  thrall  for  life,  and  whose  surpassing  cruelty 
imprinted  an  indelible  seal  of  horror  upon  his  glorious 
reign  — of  her  who,  when  she  delivered  a man  to  death, 
admonished  the  executioner  with  an  oath,  saying,  ‘By 
Him  who  liveth  for  ever,  if  thou  failest,  I will  cause 
thee  to  be  flayed  alive.’ 


268 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Another  figure  rises  at  the  window  of  the  Tuscan 
Ambassador’s  great  villa,  with  the  face  of  a man  con- 
cerning whom  legend  has  also  found  much  to  invent 
and  little  to  say  that  is  true,  a man  of  whom  modern 
science  has  rightly  made  a hero,  but  whom  prejudice 
and  ignorance  have  wrongly  crowned  as  a martyr — 
Galileo  Galilei.  Tradition  represents  him  as  languish- 
ing, laden  with  chains,  in  the  more  or  less  mythical 
prisons  of  the  Inquisition;  history  tells  very  plainly 
that  his  first  confinement  consisted  in  being  the  hon- 
oured guest  of  the  Tuscan  Ambassador  in  the  latter’s 
splendid  residence  in  Rome,  and  that  his  last  imprison- 
ment was  a relegation  to  the  beautiful  castle  of  the  Pic- 
colomini  near  Siena,  than  which  the  heart  of  man  could 
hardly  desire  a more  lovely  home.  History  affirms 
beyond  doubt,  moreover,  that  Galileo  was  the  personal 
friend  of  that  learned  and  not  illiberal  Barberini,  Pope 
Urban  the  Eighth,  under  whose  long  reign  the  Coperni- 
can  system  was  put  on  trial,  who  believed  in  that  system 
as  Galileo  did,  who  read  his  books  and  talked  with  him  ; 
and  who,  when  the  stupid  technicalities  of  the  eccle- 
siastic courts  declared  the  laws  of  the  universe  to  be 
nonsense,  gave  his  voice  against  the  decision,  though  he 
could  not  officially  annul  it  without  scandal.  ‘ It  was 
not  my  intention,’  said  the  Pope  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses, ‘to  condemn  Galileo.  If  the  matter  had  depended 
upon  me,  the  decree  of  the  Index  which  condemned 
his  doctrines  should  never  have  been  pronounced.’ 


Campo  Marzo 


269 


That  Galileo’s  life  was  saddened  by  the  result  of 
the  absurd  trial,  and  that  he  was  nominally  a prisoner 
for  a long  time,  is  not  to  be  denied.  But  that  he  suf- 
fered the  indignities  and  torments  recorded  in  legend 
is  no  more  true  than  that  Belisarius  begged  his  bread 
at  the  Porta  Pinciana.  He  lived  in  comfort  and  in 
honour  with  the  Ambassador  in  the  Villa  Medici,  and 
many  a time  from  those  lofty  windows,  unchanged 
since  before  his  day,  he  must  have  watched  the  earth 
turning  with  him  from  the  sun  at  evening,  and  medi- 
tated upon  the  emptiness  of  the  ancient  phrase  that 
makes  the  sun  ‘ set  ’ when  the  day  is  done  — think- 
ing of  the  world,  perhaps,  as  turning  upon  its  other 
side,  with  tired  eyes,  and  ready  for  rest  and  darkness 
and  refreshment,  after  long  toil  and  heat. 

One  may  stand  under  those  old  trees  before  the 
Villa  Medici,  beside  the  ancient  fountain  facing  Saint 
Peter’s  distant  dome,  and  dream  the  great  review  of 
history,  and  call  up  a vast,  changing  picture  at  one’s 
feet  between  the  heights  and  the  yellow  river.  First, 
the  broad  corn-field  of  the  Tarquin  Kings,  rich  and 
ripe  under  the  evening  breeze  of  summer  that  runs 
along  swiftly,  bending  the  golden  surface  in  soft  mov- 
ing waves  from  the  Tiber’s  edge  to  the  foot  of  the 
wooded  slope.  Then,  the  hurried  harvesting,  the 
sheaves  cast  into  the  river,  the  dry,  stiff  stubble  baking 
in  the  sun,  and  presently  the  men  of  Rome  coming 


27  o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


forth  in  procession  from  the  dark  Servian  wall  on  the 
left  to  dedicate  the  field  to  the  War  God  with  prayer 
and  chant  and  smoking  sacrifice.  By  and  by  the 
stubble  trodden  down  under  horses’  hoofs,  the  dusty 
plain  the  exercising  ground  of  young  conquerors,  the 
voting  place,  later,  of  a strong  Republic,  whither  the 
centuries  went  out  to  choose  their  consuls,  to  decide 
upon  peace  or  war,  to  declare  the  voice  of  the 
people  in  grave  matters,  while  the  great  signal  flag 
waved  on  the  Janiculum,  well  in  sight  though  far 
away,  to  fall  suddenly  at  the  approach  of  any  foe  and 
suspend  the  ‘ comitia  ’ on  the  instant.  And  in  the  flat 
and  dusty  plain,  buildings  begin  to  rise ; first,  the  Altar 
of  Mars  and  the  holy  place  of  the  infernal  gods,  Dis 
and  Proserpine ; later,  the  great  * Sheepfold, ’ the 
lists  and  hustings  for  the  voting,  and,  encroaching  a 
little  upon  the  training  ground,  the  temple  of  Venus 
Victorious  and  the  huge  theatre  of  Pompey,  wherein 
the  Orsini  held  their  own  so  long;  but  in  the  times 
of  Lucullus,  when  his  gardens  and  his  marvellous 
villa  covered  the  Pincian  hill,  the  plain  was  still  a wide 
field,  and  still  the  field  of  Mars,  without  the  walls, 
broken  by  few  landmarks,  and  trodden  to  deep  white 
dust  by  the  scampering  hoofs  of  half-drilled  cavalry. 
Under  the  Emperors,  then,  first  beautified  in  part,  as 
Caesar  traces  the  great  Septa  for  the  voting,  and 
Augustus  erects  the  Altar  of  Peace  and  builds  up  his 
cypress-clad  tomb,  crowned  by  his  own  image,  and 


Campo  Marzo 


271 


Agrippa  raises  his  triple  temple,  and  Hadrian  builds 
the  Pantheon  upon  its  ruins,  while  the  obelisk  that 
now  stands  on  Monte  Citorio  before  the  House  of  Par- 
liament points  out  the  brass-figured  hours  on  the  broad 
marble  floor  of  the  first  Emperor’s  sun-clock  and  marks 
the  high  noon  of  Rome’s  glory  — and  the  Portico  of 
Neptune  and  many  other  splendid  works  spring  up. 
Isis  and  Serapis  have  a temple  next,  and  Domitian’s 
race-course  appears  behind  Agrippa’s  Baths,  straight 
and  white.  By  and  by  the  Antonines  raise  columns  and 
triumphal  arches,  but  always  to  southward,  leaving  the 
field  of  Mars  a field  still,  for  its  old  uses,  and  the  tired 
recruits,  sweating  from  exercise,  gather  under  the  high 
shade  of  Augustus’  tomb  at  midday  for  an  hour’s  rest. 

Last  of  all,  the  great  temple  of  the  Sun,  with  its 
vast  portico,  and  the  Mithraeum  at  the  other  end,  and 
when  the  walls  of  Aurelian  are  built,  and  when  ruin 
comes  upon  Rome  from  the  north,  the  Campus  Martius 
is  still  almost  an  open  stretch  of  dusty  earth  on  which 
soldiers  have  learned  their  trade  through  a thousand 
years  of  hard  training. 

Not  till  the  poor  days  when  the  waterless,  ruined 
city  sends  its  people  down  from  the  heights  to  drink 
of  the  muddy  stream  does  Campo  Marzo  become  a 
town,  and  then,  around  the  castle-tomb  of  the  Colonna 
and  • the  castle-theatre  of  the  Orsini  the  wretched 
houses  begin  to  rise  here  and  there,  thickening  to 
a low,  dark  forest  of  miserable  dwellings  threaded 


272 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


through  and  through,  up  and  down  and  crosswise,  by 
narrow  and  crooked  streets,  out  of  which  by  degrees 
the  lofty  churches  and  palaces  of  the  later  age  are 
to  spring  up.  From  a training  ground  it  has  become 
a fighting  ground,  a labyrinth  of  often  barricaded  ways 
and  lanes,  deeper  and  darker  towards  the  water-gates 
cut  in  the  wall  that  runs  along  the  Tiber,  from  Porta 
del  Popolo  nearly  to  the  island  of  Saint  Bartholomew, 
and  almost  all  that  is  left  of  Rome  is  crowded  and 
huddled  into  the  narrow  pen  overshadowed  and  domi- 
nated here  and  there  by  black  fortresses  and  brown 
brick  towers.  The  man  who  then  might  have  looked 
down  from  the  Pincian  hill  would  have  seen  that  sight ; 
houses  little  better  than  those  of  the  poorest  mountain 
village  in  the  Southern  Italy  of  today,  black  with 
smoke,  black  with  dirt,  blacker  with  patches  made  by 
shadowy  windows  that  had  no  glass.  A silent  town, 
too,  surly  and  defensive ; now  and  then  the  call  of  the 
water-carrier  disturbs  the  stillness,  more  rarely,  the  cry 
of  a wandering  peddler ; and  sometimes  a distant  sound 
of  hoofs,  a far  clash  of  iron  and  steel,  and  the  echoing 
yell  of  furious  fighting  men  — 4 Orsini ! ’ 4 Colonna  ! ’ — 
the  long-drawn  syllables  coming  up  distinct  through 
the  evening  air  to  the  garden  where  Messalina  died, 
while  the  sun  sets  red  behind  the  spire  of  old  Saint 
Peter’s  across  the  river,  and  gilds  the  huge  girth  of 
dark  Sant’  Angelo  to  a rusty  red,  like  battered  iron 
bathed  in  blood. 


/ 


Campo  Marzo 


273 


Back  come  the  Popes  from  Avignon,  and  streets  grow 
wider  and  houses  cleaner  and  men  richer  — all  for  the 
Bourbon’s  Spaniards  to  sack,  and  burn,  and  destroy 
before  the  last  city  grows  up,  and  the  rounded  domes 
raise  their  helmet-like  heads  out  of  the  chaos,  and  the 
broad  Piazza  del  Popolo  is  cleared,  and  old  Saint  Peter’s 
goes  down  in  dust  to  make  way  for  the  Cathedral  of  all 
Christendom  as  it  stands.  Then  far  away,  on  Saint 
Peter’s  evening,  when  it  is  dusk,  the  great  dome,  and 
the  small  domes,  and  the  colonnades,  and  the  broad 
facade  are  traced  in  silver  lights  that  shine  out  quietly 
as  the  air  darkens.  The  solemn  bells  toll  the  first  hour 
of  the  June  night;  the  city  is  hushed,  and  all  at  once 
the  silver  lines  are  turned  to  gold,  as  the  red  flame 
runs  in  magic  change  from  the  topmost  cross  down 
the  dome,  in  rivers,  to  the  roof,  and  the  pillars  and  the 
columns  of  the  square  below  — the  grandest  illumination 
of  the  grandest  church  the  world  has  ever  seen. 


VOL.  I. 


T 


V 


REGION  V PONTE 

The  Region  of  Ponte,  ‘the  Bridge,’  takes  its  name 
from  the  ancient  Triumphal  Bridge  which  led  from  the 
city  to  the  Vatican  Fields,  and  at  low  water  some  frag- 
ments of  the  original  piers  may  be  seen  in  the  river  at 
the  bend  just  below  Ponte  Sant’  Angelo,  between  the 
Church  of  Saint  John  of  the  Florentines  on  the  one 
bank,  and  the  Hospital  of  Santo  Spirito  on  the  other. 
In  the  Middle  Age,  according  to  Baracconi  and  others, 
the  broken  arches  still  extended  into  the  stream,  and 
upon  them  was  built  a small  fortress,  the  outpost  of  the 
Orsini  on  that  side.  The  device,  however,  appears  to 
represent  a portion  of  the  later  Bridge  of  Sant’  Angelo, 
built  upon  the  foundations  of  the  ^Elian  Bridge  of 


274 


Ponte 


*7  5 


Hadrian,  which  connected  his  tomb  with  the  Campus 
Martius.  The  Region  consists  of  the  northwest  point 
of  the  city,  bounded  by  the  Tiber,  from  Monte  Brianzo 
round  the  bend  and  down  stream  to  the  new  Lungara 
bridge,  and  on  the  land  side  by  a very  irregular  line 
running  across  the  Corso  Vittorio  Emanuele,  close  to 
the  Chiesa  Nuova,  and  then  eastward  and  northward  in 
a zigzag,  so  as  to  take  in  most  of  the  fortresses  of  the 
Orsini  family,  Monte  Giordano,  Tor  Millina,  Tor  San- 
guigna,  and  the  now  demolished  Torre  di  Nona.  The 
Sixth  and  Seventh  Regions  adjacent  to  the  Fifth  and  to 
each  other  would  have  to  be  included  in  order  to  take 
in  all  that  part  of  Rome  once  held  by  the  only  family 
that  rivalled,  and  sometimes  surpassed,  the  Colonna  in 
power. 

As  has  been  said  before,  the  original  difference 
between  the  two  was  that  the  Colonna  were  Ghibel- 
lines  and  for  the  Emperors,  while  the  Orsini  were 
Guelphs  and  generally  adhered  to  the  Popes.  In  the 
violent  changes  of  the  Middle  Age,  it  happened  indeed 
that  the  Colonna  had  at  least  one  Pope  of  their  own, 
and  that  more  than  one,  such  as  Nicholas  the  Fourth, 
favoured  their  race  to  the  point  of  exciting  popular 
indignation.  But,  on  the  whole,  they  kept  to  their 
parties.  When  Lewis  the  Bavarian  was  to  be  crowned 
by  force,  Sciarra  Colonna  crowned  him ; when  Henry 
the  Seventh  of  Luxemburg  had  come  to  Rome  for 
the  same  purpose,  a few  years  earlier,  the  Orsini 


276 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


had  been  obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  a sort  of  second- 
rate  coronation  at  Saint  John  Lateran’s;  and  when 
the  struggle  between  the  two  families  was  at  its  height, 
nearly  two  centuries  later,  and  Sixtus  the  Fourth  ‘as- 
sumed the  part  of  mediator,’  as  the  chronicle  expresses 
it,  one  of  his  first  acts  of  mediation  was  to  cut  off  the 
head  of  a Colonna,  and  his  next  was  to  lay  regular 
siege  to  the  strongholds  of  the  family  in  the  Roman 
hills ; but  before  he  had  brought  this  singular  process 
of  mediation  to  an  issue  he  suddenly  died,  the  Colonna 
returned  to  their  dwellings  in  Rome  ‘ with  great  clam- 
our and  triumph,’  got  the  better  of  the  Orsini,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  elect  a Pope  after  their  own  hearts,  in  the 
person  of  Cardinal  Cibo,  of  Genoa,  known  as  Inno- 
cent the  Eighth.  He  it  is  who  lies  under  the  beau- 
tiful bronze  monument  in  the  inner  left  aisle  of  Saint 
Peter’s,  which  shows  him  holding  in  his  hand  a model 
of  the  spear-head  that  pierced  Christ’s  side,  a relic 
believed  to  have  been  sent  to  the  Pope  as  a gift  by 
Sultan  Bajazet  the  Second. 

The  origin  of  the  hatred  between  Colonna  and  Or- 
sini is  unknown,  for  the  archives  of  the  former  have  as 
yet  thrown  no  light  upon  the  subject,  and  those  of  the 
latter  were  almost  entirely  destroyed  by  fire  in  the  last 
century.  In  the  year  1305,  Pope  Clement  the  Fifth  was 
elected  Pope  at  Perugia.  He  was  a Frenchman,  and 
was  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  the  candidate  of  Philip 
the  Fair,  whose  tutor  had  been  a Colonna,  and  he  was 


Ponte 


277 


chosen  by  the  opposing  factions  of  two  Orsini  cardi- 
nals because  the  people  of  Perugia  were  tired  of  a 
quarrel  that  had  lasted  eleven  months,  and  had  adopted 
the  practical  and  always  infallible  expedient  of  delib- 
erately starving  the  conclave  to  a vote.  Muratori  calls 
it  a scandalous  and  illicit  election,  which  brought  about 
the  ruin  of  Italy  and  struck  a memorable  blow  at  the 
power  of  the  Holy  See.  Though  not  a great  man, 
Philip  the  Fair  was  one  of  the  cleverest  that  ever  lived. 
Before  the  election  he  had  made  his  bishop  swear  upon 
the  Sacred  Host  to  accept  his  conditions,  without  ex- 
pressing them  all ; and  the  most  important  proved  to 
be  the  transference  of  the  Papal  See  to  France.  The 
new  Pope  obeyed  his  master,  established  himself  in 
Avignon,  and  the  King  to  all  intents  and  purposes  had 
taken  the  Pontificate  captive  and  lost  no  time  in  using 
it  for  his  own  ends  against  the  Empire,  his  hereditary 
foe.  Such,  in  a few  words,  is  the  history  of  that  mem- 
orable transaction;  and  but  for  the  previous  quarrels 
of  Colonna,  Caetani  and  Orsini,  it  could  never  have 
taken  place.  The  Orsini  repented  bitterly  of  what 
they  had  done,  for  one  of  Clement  the  Fifth’s  first  acts 
was  to  ‘ annul  altogether  all  sentences  whatsoever  pro- 
nounced against  the  Colonna.’ 

But  the  Pope  being  gone,  the  Barons  had  Rome  in 
their  power  and  used  it  for  a battlefield.  Four  years 
later,  we  find  in  Villani  the  first  record  of  a skirmish 
fought  between  Orsini  and  Colonna.  In  the  month  of 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


278 

October,  1309,  says  the  chronicler,  certain  of  the 
Orsini  and  of  the  Colonna  met  outside  the  walls  of 
Rome  with  their  followers,  to  the  number  of  four  hun- 
dred horse,  and  fought  together,  and  the  Colonna  won ; 
and  there  died  the  Count  of  Anguillara,  and  six  of  the 
Orsini  were  taken,  and  Messer  Riccardo  degli  Anni- 
baleschi  who  was  in  their  company. 

Three  years  afterwards,  Henry  of  Luxemburg  alter- 
nately feasted  and  fought  his  way  to  Rome  to  be 
crowned  Emperor  in  spite  of  Philip  the  Fair,  the  Tus- 
can league  and  Robert,  King  of  Naples,  who  sent  a 
thousand  horsemen  out  of  the  south  to  hinder  the  coro- 
nation. In  a day  Rome  was  divided  into  two  great 
camps.  Colonna  held  for  the  Emperor  the  Lateran, 
Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  the  Colosseum,  the  Torre  delle 
Milizie,  — the  brick  tower  on  the  lower  part  of  the 
modern  Via  Nazionale,  — the  Pantheon,  as  an  advanced 
post  in  one  direction,  and  Santa  Sabina,  a church  that 
was  almost  a fortress,  on  the  south,  by  the  Tiber,  — a 
chain  of  fortresses  which  would  be  formidable  in  any 
modern  revolution.  Against  Henry,  however,  the 
Orsini  held  the  Vatican  and  Saint  Peter’s,  the  Castle 
of  Sant’  Angelo  and  all  Trastevere,  their  fortresses  in 
the  Region  of  Ponte,  and,  moreover,  the  Capitol  itself. 
The  parties  were  well  matched,  for,  though  Henry  en- 
tered Rome  on  the  seventh  of  May,  the  struggle  lasted 
till  the  twenty-ninth  of  June. 

Those  who  have  seen  revolutions  can  guess  at  the 


Ponte 


279 

desperate  fighting  in  the  barricaded  streets,  and  at  the 
well-guarded  bridges  from  one  end  of  the  city  to  the 
other.  Backwards  and  forwards  the  battle  raged  for 
days  and  weeks,  by  day  and  night,  with  small  time 
for  rest  and  refreshment.  Forward  rode  the  Colonna, 
the  stolid  Germans,  Henry  himself,  the  eagle  of  the 
Empire  waving  in  the  dim  streets  beside  the  flag  that 
displayed  the  simple  column  in  a plain  field.  It  is  not 
hard  to  hear  and  see  it  all  again  — the  clanging  gallop 
of  armoured  knights,  princes,  nobles  and  bishops, 
with  visors  down,  and  long  swords  and  maces  in  their 
hands,  the  high,  fierce  cries  of  the  light-armed  foot- 
men, the  bowmen  and  the  slingers,  the  roar  of  the 
rabble  rout  behind,  the  shrill  voices  of  women  at  upper 
windows,  peering  down  for  the  face  of  brother,  husband, 
or  lover  in  the  dashing  press  below,  — the  dust,  the 
heat,  the  fierce  June  sunshine  blazing  on  broad  steel, 
and  the  deep,  black  shadows  putting  out  all  light  as 
the  bands  rush  past.  Then,  on  a sudden,  the  answer- 
ing shout  of  the  Orsini,  the  standard  of  the  Bear, 
the  Bourbon  lilies  of  Anjou,  the  scarlet  and  white  col- 
ours of  the  Guelph  house,  the  great  black  horses,  and 
the  dark  mail  — the  enemies  surging  together  in  the 
street  like  swift  rivers  of  loose  iron  meeting  in  a stone 
channel,  with  a rending  crash  and  the  quick  hammering 
of  steel  raining  desperate  blows  on  steel  — horses  rear- 
ing their  height,  footmen  crushed,  knights  reeling  in 
the  saddle,  sparks  flying,  steel-clad  arms  and  long 


28o 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


swords  whirling  in  great  circles  through  the  air.  Fore- 
most of  all  in  fight  the  Bishop  of  Liege,  his  purple 
mantle  flying  back  from  his  corselet,  trampling  down 
everything,  sworn  to  win  the  barricade  or  die,  riding  at 
it  like  a madman,  forcing  his  horse  up  to  it  over  the 
heaps  of  quivering  bodies  that  made  a causeway,  leap- 
ing it  alone  at  last,  like  a demon  in  air,  and  standing 
in  the  thick  of  the  Orsini,  slaying  to  right  and  left. 

In  an  instant  they  had  him  down  and  bound  and 
prisoner,  one  man  against  a thousand ; and  they 
fastened  him  behind  a man-at-arms,  on  the  crupper, 
to  take  him  into  Sant’  Angelo  alive.  But  a soldier, 
whose  brother  he  had  slain  a moment  earlier,  followed 
stealthily  on  foot  and  sought  the  joint  in  the  back  of 
the  armour,  and  ran  in  his  pike  quickly,  and  killed 
him  — ‘whereof,’ says  the  chronicle,  ‘was  great  pity, 
for  the  Bishop  was  a man  of  high  courage  and  author- 
ity.’ But  on  the  other  side  of  the  barricade,  those  who 
had  followed  him  so  far,  and  lost  him,  felt  their  hearts 
sink,  for  not  one  of  them  could  do  what  he  had  done  ; 
and  after  that,  though  they  fought  a whole  month 
longer,  they  had  but  little  hope  of  ever  getting  to 
the  Vatican.  So  the  Colonna  took  Henry  up  to  the 
Lateran,  where  they  were  masters,  and  he  was  crowned 
there  by  three  cardinals  in  the  Pope’s  stead,  while  the 
Orsini  remained  grimly  intrenched  in  their  own  quarter, 
and  each  party  held  its  own,  even  after  Henry  had 
prudently  retired  to  Tivoli,  in  the  hills. 


Ponte 


281 


At  last  the  great  houses  made  a truce  and  a com- 
promise, by  which  they  attempted  to  govern  Rome 
jointly,  and  chose  Sciarra  — the  same  who  had  taken 
Pope  Boniface  prisoner  in  Anagni  — and  Matteo  Orsini 
of  Monte  Giordano,  to  be  Senators  together;  and  there 
was  peace  between  them  for  a time,  in  the  year  in 
which  Rienzi  was  born.  But  in  that  very  year,  as 
though  foreshadowing  his  destiny,  the  rabble  of  Rome 
rose  up,  and  chose  a dictator;  and  somehow,  by  sur- 
prise or  treachery,  he  got  possession  of  the  Barons’ 
chief  fortresses,  and  of  Sant’  Angelo,  and  set  up  the 
standard  of  terror  against  the  nobles.  In  a few  days 
he  sacked  and  burned  their  strongholds,  and  the  high 
and  mighty  lords  who  had  made  the  reigning  Pope,  and 
had  fought  to  an  issue  for  the  Crown  of  the  Holy 
Roman  Empire,  were  conquered,  humiliated  and  im- 
prisoned by  an  upstart  plebeian  of  Trastevere.  The 
portcullis  of  Monte  Giordano  was  lifted,  and  the  myste- 
rious gates  were  thrown  wide  to  the  curiosity  of  a popu- 
lace drunk  with  victory ; Giovanni  degli  Stefaneschi 
issued  edicts  of  sovereign  power  from  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  the  Capitol ; and  the  vagabond  thieves  of 
* Rome  feasted  in  the  lordly  halls  of  the  Colonna  palace. 
But  though  the  tribune  and  the  people  could  seize 
Rome,  outnumbering  the  nobles  as  ten  to  one,  they  had 
neither  the  means  nor  the  organization  to  besiege  the 
fortified  towns  of  the  great  houses,  which  hemmed  in 
the  city  and  the  Campagna  on  every  side.  Thither  the 


282 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


nobles  retired  to  recruit  fresh  armies  among  their  re- 
tainers, to  forge  new  swords  in  their  own  smithies,  and 
to  concert  new  plans  for  recovering  their  ancient  domina- 
tion ; and  thence  they  returned  in  their  strength,  from 
their  towers  and  their  towns  and  fortresses,  from  Pales- 
trina and  Subiaco,  Genazzano,  San  Vito  and  Paliano 
on  the  south,  and  from  Bracciano  and  Galera  and 
Anguillara,  and  all  the  Orsini  castles  on  the  north,  to 
teach  the  people  of  Rome  the  great  truth  of  those  days, 
that  ‘ aristocracy  ’ meant  not  the  careless  supremacy 
of  the  nobly  born,  but  the  power  of  the  strongest  hands 
and  the  coolest  heads  to  take  and  hold.  Back  came 
Colonna  and  Orsini,  and  the  people,  who  a few  months 
earlier  had  acclaimed  their  dictator  in  a fit  of  justifiable 
ill-temper  against  their  masters,  opened  the  gates  for 
the  nobles  again,  and  no  man  lifted  a hand  to  help 
Giovanni  degli  Stefaneschi,  when  the  men-at-arms 
bound  him  and  dragged  him  off  to  prison.  Strange 
to  say,  no  further  vengeance  was  taken  upon  him,  and 
for  once  in  their  history,  the  nobles  shed  no  blood  in 
revenge  for  a mortal  injury. 

No  man  could  count  the  tragedies  that  swept  over  the 
Region  of  Ponte  from  the  first  outbreak  of  war  between 
the  Orsini  and  the  Colonna,  till  Paolo  Giordano  Orsini, 
the  last  of  the  elder  branch,  breathed  out  his  life  in 
exile  under  the  ban  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth,  three  hundred 
years  later.  There  was  no  end  of  them  till  then,  and 
there  was  little  interruption  of  them  while  they  lasted ; 


Ponte 


283 


there  is  no  stone  left  standing  from  those  days  in  that 
great  quarter  that  may  not  have  been  splashed  with 
their  fierce  blood,  nor  is  there,  perhaps,  a church  or 
chapel  within  their  old  holding  into  which  an  Orsini  has 
not  been  borne  dead  or  dying  from  some  deadly  fight. 
Even  today  it  is  gloomy,  and  the  broad  modern  street, 
which  swept  down  a straight  harvest  of  memories 
through  the  quarter  to  the  very  Bridge  of  Sant’  Angelo, 
has  left  the  mediaeval  shadows  on  each  side  as  dark  as 
ever.  Of  the  three  parts  of  the  city,  which  still  recall  the 
Middle  Age  most  vividly,  namely,  the  neighbourhood 
of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  in  the  first  Region,  the  by-ways 
of  Trastevere  and  the  Region  of  Ponte,  the  latter  is  by 
far  the  most  interesting.  It  was  the  abode  of  the 
Orsini;  it  was  also  the  chief  place  of  business  for  the 
bankers  and  money-changers  who  congregated  there 
under  the  comparatively  secure  protection  of  the  Guelph 
lords  ; and  it  was  the  quarter  of  prisons,  of  tortures,  and 
of  executions  both  secret  and  public.  The  names  of 
the  streets  had  terrible  meaning : there  was  the  Vicolo 
della  Corda,  and  the  Corda  was  the  rope  by  which  crimi- 
nals were  hoisted  twenty  feet  in  the  air,  and  allowed  to 
drop  till  their  toes  were  just  above  the  ground ; there 
was  the  Piazza  della  Berlina  Vecchia,  the  place  of  the 
Old  Pillory ; there  was  a little  church  known  as  the 
‘ Church  of  the  Gallows  ’ ; and  there  was  a lane  omi- 
nously called  Vicolo  dello  Mastro ; the  Mastro  was  the 
Master  of  judicial  executions,  in  other  words,  the  Exe- 


284 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


cutioner  himself.  Before  the  Castle  of  Sant’  Angelo 
stood  the  permanent  gallows,  rarely  long  unoccupied, 
and  from  an  upper  window  of  the  dark  Torre  di 
Nona,  on  the  hither  side  of  the  bridge,  a rope  hung 
swinging  slowly  in  the  wind,  sometimes  with  a human 
body  at  the  end  of  it,  sometimes  without.  It  was  the 
place,  and  that  was  the  manner,  of  executions  that 
took  place  in  the  night.  In  Via  di  Monserrato  stood 
the  old  fortress  of  the  Savelli,  long  ago  converted 
into  a prison,  and  called  the  Corte  Savella,  the  most 
terrible  of  all  Roman  dungeons  for  the  horror  of  damp 
darkness,  for  ever  associated  with  Beatrice  Cenci’s  trial 
and  death.  Through  those  very  streets  she  was  taken 
in  the  cart  to  the  little  open  space  before  the  bridge, 
where  she  laid  down  her  life  upon  the  scaffold  three 
hundred  years  ago,  and  left  her  story  of  offended  inno- 
cence, of  revenge  and  of  expiation,  which  will  not  be 
forgotten  while  Rome  is  remembered. 

Beatrice  Cenci’s  story  has  been  often  told,  but  no- 
where more  clearly  and  justly  than  in  Shelley’s 
famous  letter,  written  to  explain  his  play.  There  are 
several  manuscript  accounts  of  the  last  scene  at  the 
Ponte  Sant’  Angelo,  and  I myself  have  lately  read 
one,  written  by  a contemporary  and  not  elsewhere 
mentioned,  but  differing  only  from  the  rest  in  the 
horrible  realism  with  which  the  picture  is  presented. 
The  truth  is  plain  enough ; the  unspeakable  crimes 
of  Francesco  Cenci,  his  more  than  inhuman  cruelty 


Ponte 


285 


to  his  children  and  his  wives,  his  monstrous  lust 
and  devilish  nature,  outdo  anything  to  be  found  in 
any  history  of  the  world,  not  excepting  the  pri- 
vate lives  of  Tiberius,  Nero,  or  Commodus.  His 
daughter  and  his  second  wife  killed  him  in  his  sleep. 
His  death  was  merciful  and  swift,  in  an  age  when 


jj 


BRIDGE  OF  SANT’  ANGELO 


far  less  crimes  were  visited  with  tortures  at  the 
very  name  of  which  we  shudder.  They  were  driven 
to  absolute  desperation,  and  the  world  has  forgiven 
them  their  one  quick  blow,  struck  for  freedom, 
for  woman’s  honour  and  for  life  itself  in  the  dim 
castle  of  Petrella.  Tormented  with  rack  and  cord 
they  all  confessed  the  deed,  save  Beatrice,  whom  no 
bodily  pain  could  move ; and  if  Paolo  Santacroce  had 


286 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


not  murdered  his  mother  for  her  money  before  their 
death  was  determined,  Clement  the  Eighth  would 
have  pardoned  them.  But  the  times  were  evil,  an 
example  was  called  for,  Santacroce  had  escaped  to 
Brescia,  and  the  Pope’s  heart  was  hardened  against 
the  Cenci. 

They  died  bravely,  there  at  the  head  of  the  bridge, 
in  the  calm  May  morning,  in  the  midst  of  a vast 
and  restless  crowd,  among  whom  more  than  one  per- 
son was  killed  by  accident,  as  by  the  falling  of  a 
pot  of  flowers  from  a high  window,  and  by  the 
breaking  down  of  a balcony  over  a shop,  where  too 
many  had  crowded  in  to  see.  The  old  house  opposite 
looked  down  upon  the  scene,  and  the  people  watched 
Beatrice  Cenci  die  from  those  same  arched  windows. 
Above  the  sea  of  faces,  high  on  the  wooden  scaffold, 
rises  the  tall  figure  of  a lovely  girl,  her  hair  gleam- 
ing in  the  sunshine  like  threads  of  dazzling  gold, 
her  marvellous  blue  eyes  turned  up  to  Heaven,  her 
fresh  young  dimpled  face  not  pale  with  fear,  her 
exquisite  lips  moving  softly  as  she  repeats  the  De 
Profundis  of  her  last  appeal  to  God.  Let  the  axe 
not  fall.  Let  her  stand  there  for  ever  in  the  spotless 
purity  that  cost  her  life  on  earth  and  set  her  name 
for  ever  among  the  high  constellated  stars  of  maid- 
enly romance. 

Close  by  the  bridge,  just  opposite  the  Torre  di  Nona, 
stood  the  ‘ Lion  Inn,’  once  kept  by  the  beautiful 


Ponte 


287 


Vanozza  de  Catanei,  the  mother  of  Rodrigo  Borgia’s 
children,  of  Caesar,  and  Gandia,  and  Lucrezia,  and 
the  place  was  her  property  still  when  she  was  nomi- 
nally married  to  her  second  husband,  Carlo  Canale, 
the  keeper  of  the  prison  across  the  way.  In  the 
changing  vicissitudes  of  the  city,  the  Torre  di  Nona 
made  way  for  the  once  famous  Apollo  Theatre, 
built  upon  the  lower  dungeons  and  foundations, 
and  Faust’s  demon  companion  rose  to  the  stage  out 
of  the  depths  that  had  heard  the  groans  of  tort- 
ured criminals  ; the  theatre  itself  disappeared  a few 
years  ago  in  the  works  for  improving  the  Tiber’s  banks, 
and  a name  is  all  that  remains  of  a fact  that  made 
men  tremble.  In  the  late  destruction,  the  old  houses 
opposite  were  not  altogether  pulled  down,  but  were 
sliced,  as  it  were,  through  their  roofs  and  rooms,  at  a 
safe  angle ; and  there,  no  doubt,  are  still  standing 
portions  of  Vanozza’s  inn,  while  far  below,  the  cellars 
where  she  kept  her  wine  free  of  excise,  by  papal  privi- 
lege, are  still  as  cool  and  silent  as  ever. 

Not  far  beyond  her  hostelry  stands  another  Inn, 
famous  from  early  days  and  still  open  to  such  travellers 
as  deign  to  accept  its  poor  hospitality.  It  is  an  inn  for 
the  people  now,  for  wine  carters,  and  the  better  sort  of 
hill  peasants ; it  was  once  the  best  and  most  fashion- 
able in  Rome,  and  there  the  great  Montaigne  once 
dwelt,  and  is  believed  to  have  written  at  least  a part  of 
his  famous  Essay  on  Vanity.  It  is  the  Albergo  dell’ 


288 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Orso,  the  ‘ Bear  Inn,’  and  perhaps  it  is  not  a coin- 
cidence that  Vanozza’s  sign  of  the  Lion  should  have 
faced  the  approach  to  the  Leonine  City  beyond  the 
Tiber,  and  that  the  sign  of  the  Bear,  ‘ The  Orsini 
Arms,’  as  an  English  innkeeper  would  christen  it, 
should  have  been  the  principal  resort  of  the  kind  in 
a quarter  which  was  three-fourths  the  property  and 
altogether  the  possession  of  the  great  house  that  over- 
shadowed it,  from  Monte  Giordano  on  the  one  side, 
and  from  Pompey’s  Theatre  on  the  other. 

The  temporary  fall  of  the  Orsini  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century  came  about  by  one  of  the  most  ex- 
traordinary concatenations  of  events  to  be  found  in  the 
chronicles.  The  story  has  filled  more  than  one  volume 
and  is  nevertheless  very  far  from  complete;  nor  is  it 
possible,  since  the  destruction  of  the  Orsini  archives, 
to  reconstruct  it  with  absolute  accuracy.  Briefly  told, 
it  is  this. 

Felice  Peretti,  monk  and  Cardinal  of  Montalto,  and 
still  nominally  one  of  the  so-called  ‘ poor  cardinals  ’ 
who  received  from  the  Pope  a daily  allowance  known 
as  ‘the  Dish,’  had  nevertheless  accumulated  a good 
deal  of  property  before  he  became  Pope  under  the 
name  of  Sixtus  the  Fifth,  and  had  brought  some  of  his 
relatives  to  Rome.  Among  these  was  his  well  beloved 
nephew,  Francesco  Peretti,  for  whom  he  naturally 
sought  an  advantageous  marriage.  There  was  at  that 
time  in  Rome  a notary,  named  Accoramboni,  a native 


Ponte  289 

of  the  Marches  of  Ancona  and  a man  of  some  wealth 
and  of  good  repute.  He  had  one  daughter,  Vittoria, 
a girl  of  excessive  vanity,  as  ambitious  as  she  was  vain 
and  as  singularly  beautiful  as  she  was  ambitious.  But 
she  was  also  clever  in  a remarkable  degree,  and  seems 
to  have  had  no  difficulty  in  hiding  her  bad  qualities. 
Francesco  Peretti  fell  in  love  with  her,  the  Cardinal 
approved  the  match,  though  he  was  a man  not  easily 
deceived,  and  the  two  were  married  and  settled  in 
the  Villa  Negroni,  which  the  Cardinal  had  built  near 
the  Baths  of  Diocletian.  Having  attained  her  first 
object,  Vittoria  took  less  pains  to  play  the  saint,  and 
began  to  dress  with  unbecoming  magnificence  and  to 
live  on  a very  extravagant  scale.  Her  name  became 
a byword  in  Rome  and  her  lovely  face  was  one  of 
the  city’s  sights.  The  Cardinal,  devotedly  attached  to 
his  nephew,  disapproved  of  the  latter’s  young  wife  and 
regretted  the  many  gifts  he  had  bestowed  upon  her. 
Like  most  clever  men,  too,  he  was  more  than  reason- 
ably angry  at  having  been  deceived  in  his  judgment 
of  a girl’s  character.  So  far,  there  is  nothing  not 
commonplace  about  the  tale. 

At  that  time  Paolo  Giordano  Orsini,  the  head  of  the 
house,  Duke  of  Bracciano  and  lord  of  a hundred  do- 
mains, was  one  of  the  greatest  personages  in  Italy. 
No  longer  young  and  already  enormously  fat,  he  was 
married  to  Isabella  de’  Medici,  the  daughter  of  Cosimo, 
reigning  in  Florence.  She  was  a beautiful  and  evil 


VOL.  1 


u 


290 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


woman,  and  those  who  have  endeavoured  to  make  a 
martyr  of  her  forget  the  nameless  doings  of  her  youth. 
Giordano  was  weak  and  extravagant,  and  paid  little 
attention  to  his  wife.  She  consoled  herself  with  his 
kinsman,  the  young  and  handsome  Troilo  Orsini,  who 
was  as  constantly  at  her  side  as  an  official  ‘cavalier 
servente  ’ of  later  days.  But  the  fat  Giordano,  indo- 
lent and  pleasure  seeking,  saw  nothing.  Nor  is  there 
anything  much  more  than  vulgar  and  commonplace 
in  all  this. 

Paolo  Giordano  meets  Vittoria  Peretti  in  Rome,  and 
the  two  commonplaces  begin  the  tragedy.  On  his  part, 
love  at  first  sight ; ridiculous,  at  first,  when  one  thinks 
of  his  vast  bulk  and  advancing  years,  terrible,  by  and 
by,  as  the  hereditary  passions  of  his  fierce  race  could 
be,  backed  by  the  almost  boundless  power  which  a great 
Italian  lord  possessed  in  his  surroundings.  Vittoria, 
tired  of  her  dull  and  virtuous  husband  and  of  the  lect- 
ures and  parsimony  of  his  uncle,  and  not  dreaming  that 
the  latter  was  soon  to  be  Pope,  saw  herself  in  a dream 
of  glory  controlling  every  mood  and  action  of  the  great- 
est noble  in  the  land.  And  she  met  Giordano  again 
and  again,  and  he  pleaded  and  implored,  and  was  alter- 
nately ridiculous  and  almost  pathetic  in  his  hopeless 
passion  for  the  notary’s  daughter.  But  she  had  no 
thought  of  yielding  to  his  entreaties.  She  would  have 
marriage,  or  nothing.  Neither  words  nor  gifts  could 
move  her. 


Ponte 


291 

She  had  a husband,  he  had  a wife;  and  she  de- 
manded that  he  should  marry  her,  and  was  grimly  silent 
as  to  the  means.  Until  she  was  married  to  him  he 
should  not  so  much  as  touch  the  tips  of  her  jewelled 
fingers,  nor  have  a lock  of  her  hair  to  wear  in  his 
bosom.  He  was  blindly  in  love,  and  he  was  Paolo 
Giordano  Orsini.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  should 
hesitate.  He  who  had  seen  nothing  of  his  wife’s  doings, 
suddenly  saw  his  kinsman,  Troilo,  and  Isabella  was 
doomed.  Troilo  fled  to  Paris,  and  Orsini  took  Isabella 
from  Bracciano  to  the  lonely  castle  of  Galera.  There 
he  told  her  his  mind  and  strangled  her,  as  was  his 
right,  being  feudal  lord  and  master  with  powers  of  life 
and  death.  Then  from  Bracciano  he  sent  messengers 
to  kill  Francesco  Peretti.  One  of  them  had  a slight 
acquaintance  with  the  Cardinal’s  nephew. 

They  came  to  the  Villa  Negroni  by  night,  and  called 
him  out,  saying  that  his  best  friend  was  in  need  of  him, 
and  was  waiting  for  him  at  Monte  Cavallo.  He  hesi- 
tated, for  it  was  very  late.  They  had  torches  and 
weapons,  and  would  protect  him,  they  said.  Still  he 
wavered.  Then  Vittoria,  his  wife,  scoffed  at  him,  and 
called  him  coward,  and  thrust  him  out  to  die ; for  she 
knew.  The  men  walked  beside  him  with  their  torches, 
talking  as  they  went.  They  passed  the  deserted  land 
in  the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  and  turned  at  Saint  Bernard’s 
Church  to  go  towards  the  Quirinal.  Then  they  put 
out  the  lights  and  killed  him  quickly  in  the  dark. 


292 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 

His  body  lay  there  all  night,  and  when  it  was  told 
the  next  day  that  Montalto’s  nephew  had  been  mur- 
dered, the  two  men  said  that  they  had  left  him  at 
Monte  Cavallo  and  that  he  must  have  been  killed  as 
he  came  home  alone.  The  Cardinal  buried  him  with- 
out a word,  and  though  he  guessed  the  truth  he  asked 
neither  vengeance  nor  justice  of  the  Pope. 


VILLA  NEGRONI 
From  a print  of  the  last  century 


Gregory  the  Thirteenth  guessed  it,  too,  and  when 
Orsini  would  have  married  Vittoria,  the  Pope  forbade 
the  banns  and  interdicted  their  union  for  ever.  That 
much  he  dared  to  do  against  the  greatest  peer  in  the 
country. 

To  this/  Orsini  replied  by  plighting  his  faith  to 
Vittoria  with  a ring,  in  the  presence  of  a serving 


Ponte 


293 


woman,  an  irregular  ceremony  which  he  afterwards 
described  as  a marriage,  and  he  thereupon  took  his 
bride  and  her  mother  under  his  protection.  The 
Pope  retorted  by  a determined  effort  to  arrest  the 
murderers  of  Francesco;  the  Bargello  and  his  men 
went  in  the  evening  to  the  Orsini  palace  at  Pompey’s 
Theatre  and  demanded  that  Giordano  should  give  up 
the  criminals ; the  porter  replied  that  the  Duke  was 
asleep ; the  Orsini  men-at-arms  lunged  out  with  their 
weapons,  looked  on  during  the  interview,  and  con- 
sidering the  presence  of  the  Bargello  derogatory  to 
their  master,  drove  him  away,  killing  one  of  his  men 
and  wounding  several  others.  Thereupon  Pope  Greg- 
ory forbade  the  Duke  from  seeing  Vittoria  or  commu- 
nicating with  her  by  messengers,  on  pain  of  a fine  of 
ten  thousand  gold  ducats,  an  order  to  which  Orsini 
would  have  paid  no  attention  but  which  Vittoria  was 
too  prudent  to  disregard,  and  she  retired  to  her  broth- 
er’s house,  leaving  the  Duke  in  a state  of  frenzied  rage 
that  threatened  insanity.  Then  the  Pope  seemed  to 
waver  again,  and  then  again  learning  that  the  lovers 
saw  each  other  constantly  in  spite  of  his  commands,  he 
suddenly  had  Vittoria  seized  and  imprisoned  in  Sant’ 
Angelo.  It  is  impossible  to  follow  the  long  struggle 
that  ensued.  It  lasted  four  years,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  the  Duke  and  Vittoria  were  living  at  Bracciano, 
where  the  Orsini  was  absolute  lord  and  master  and  be- 
yond the  jurisdiction  of  the  Church  — two  hours’  ride 


294 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


from  the  gates  of  Rome.  But  no  further  formality  of 
marriage  had  taken  place  and  Vittoria  was  not  satis- 
fied. Then  Gregory  the  Thirteenth  died. 

During  the  vacancy  of  the  Holy  See,  all  interdictions 
of  the  late  Pope  were  suspended.  Instantly  Giordano 
determined  to  be  married,  and  came  to  Rome  with 
Vittoria.  They  believed  that  the  Conclave  would  last 
some  time  and  were  making  their  arrangements  with- 
out haste,  living  in  Pompey’s  Theatre,  when  a messen- 
ger brought  word  that  Cardinal  Montalto  would  surely 
be  elected  Pope  within  a few  hours.  In  the  fortress 
is  the  small  family  church  of  Santa  Maria  di  Grotta 
Pinta.  The  Duke  sent  down  word  to  his  chaplain 
that  the  latter  must  marry  him  at  once.  That  night 
a retainer  of  the  house  had  been  found  murdered  at 
the  gate ; his  body  lay  on  a trestle  bier  before  the  altar 
of  the  chapel  when  the  Duke’s  message  came  ; the 
Duke  himself  and  Vittoria  were  already  in  the  little 
winding  stair  that  leads  down  from  the  apartments ; 
there  was  not  a moment  to  be  lost ; the  frightened 
chaplain  and  the  messenger  hurriedly  raised  a marble 
slab  which  closed  an  unused  vault,  dropped  the  mur- 
dered man’s  body  into  the  chasm,  and  had  scarcely 
replaced  the  stone  when  the  ducal  pair  entered  the 
church.  The  priest  married  them  before  the  altar  in 
fear  and  trembling,  and  when  they  were  gone  entered 
the  whole  story  in  the  little  register  in  the  sacristy. 
The  leaf  is  extant. 


/ 


Ponte 


295 


Within  a few  hours,  Montalto  was  Pope,  the  humble 
cardinal  was  changed  in  a moment  to  the  despotic 
pontiff,  whose  nephew’s  murder  was  unavenged  ; instead 
of  the  vacillating  Gregory,  Orsini  had  to  face  the  terri- 
ble Sixtus,  and  his  defeat  and  exile  were  foregone  con- 
clusions. He  could  no  longer  hold  his  own  and  he 
took  refuge  in  the  States  of  Venice,  where  his  kinsman, 
Ludovico,  was  a fortunate  general.  He  made  a will 
which  divided  his  personal  estate  between  Vittoria  and 
his  son,  Virginio,  greatly  to  the  woman’s  advantage ; 
and  overcome  by  the  infirmity  of  his  monstrous  size, 
spent  by  the  terrible  passions  of  his  later  years,  and 
broken  in  heart  by  an  edict  of  exile  which  he  could  no 
longer  defy,  he  died  at  Salo  within  seven  months  of 
his  great  enemy’s  coronation,  in  the  forty-ninth  year 
of  his  age. 

Vittoria  retired  to  Padua,  and  the  authorities  declared 
the  inheritance  valid,  but  Ludovico  Orsini’s  long  stand- 
ing hatred  of  her  was  inflamed  to  madness  by  the  con- 
ditions of  the  will.  Six  weeks  after  the  Duke’s  death, 
at  evening,  Vittoria  was  in  her  chamber;  her  boy 
brother,  Flaminio,  was  singing  a Miserere  to  his  lute 
by  the  fire  in  the  great  hall.  A sound  of  quick  feet, 
the  glare  of  torches,  and  Ludovico’s  masked  men  filled 
the  house.  Vittoria  died  bravely  with  one  deep  stab  in 
her  heart.  The  boy,  Flaminio,  was  torn  to  pieces  with 
seventy-four  wounds. 

But  Venice  would  permit  no  such  outrageous  deeds. 


296 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Ludovico  was  besieged  in  his  house,  by  horse  and  foot 
and  artillery,  and  was  taken  alive  with  many  of  his 
men  and  swiftly  conveyed  to  Venice ; and  a week 
had  not  passed  from  the  day  of  the  murder  before 
he  was  strangled  by  the  Bargello  in  the  latter’s 
own  room,  with  the  red  silk  cord  by  which  it  was  a 
noble’s  privilege  to  die.  The  first  one  broke,  and 
they  had  to  take  another,  but  Ludovico  Orsini  did 
not  wince.  An  hour  later  his  body  was  borne  out 
with  forty  torches,  in  solemn  procession,  to  lie  in 
state  in  Saint  Mark’s  Church.  His  men  were  done 
to  death  with  hideous  tortures  in  the  public  square. 
So  ended  the  story  of  Vittoria  Accoramboni. 


/ 


REGION  VI  PARIONE 


The  principal  point  of  this  Region  is  Piazza  Navona, 
which  exactly  coincides  with  Domitian’s  race-course, 
and  the  Region  consists  of  an  irregular  triangle  of 
which  the  huge  square  is  at  the  northern  angle,  the 
western  one  being  the  Piazza  della  Chiesa  Nuova  and 
the  southern  extremity  the  theatre  of  Pompey,  so  often 
referred  to  in  these  pages  as  one  of  the  Orsini’s 
strongholds  and  containing  the  little  church  in 
which  Paolo  Giordano  married  Vittoria  Accoramboni, 
close  to  the  Campo  dei  Fiori  which  was  the  place  of 
public  executions  by  fire.  The  name  Parione  is  said  to 
be  derived  from  the  Latin  ‘ Paries,’  a wall,  applied  to  a 
massive  remnant  of  ancient  masonry  which  once  stood 


297 


298 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


somewhere  in  the  Via  di  Parione.  It  matters  little ; 
nor  can  we  find  any  satisfactory  explanation  of  the 
gryphon  which  serves  as  a device  for  the  whole  quar- 
ter, included  during  the  Middle  Age,  with  Ponte  and 
Regola,  in  the  large  portion  of  the  city  dominated  by 
the  Orsini. 

The  Befana,  which  is  a corruption  of  Epifania,  the 
Feast  of  the  Epiphany,  is  and  always  has  been  the 
season  of  giving  presents  in  Rome,  corresponding  with 
our  Christmas ; and  the  Befana  is  personated  as  a gruff 
old  woman  who  brings  gifts  to  little  children  after  the 
manner  of  our  Saint  Nicholas.  But  in  the  minds  of 
Romans,  from  earliest  childhood,  the  name  is  associated 
with  the  night  fair,  opened  on  the  eve  of  the  Epiphany 
in  Piazza  Navona,  and  which  was  certainly  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  popular  festivals  ever  invented  to 
amuse  children  and  make  children  of  grown  people,  a 
sort  of  foreshadowing  of  Carnival,  but  having  at  the 
same  time  a flavour  and  a colour  of  its  own,  unlike  any- 
thing else  in  the  world. 

During  the  days  after  Christmas  a regular  line  of 
booths  is  erected,  encircling  the  whole  circus-shaped 
space.  It  is  a peculiarity  of  Roman  festivals  that  all 
the  material  for  adornment  is  kept  together  from  year 
to  year,  ready  for  use  at  a moment’s  notice,  and  when 
one  sees  the  enormous  amount  of  lumber  required  for 
the  Carnival,  for  the  fireworks  on  the  Pincio,  or  for  the 
Befana,  one  cannot  help  wondering  where  it  is  all  kept. 


Parione 


299 


From  year  to  year  it  lies  somewhere,  in  those  vast  sub- 
terranean places  and  great  empty  houses  used  for  that 
especial  purpose,  of  which  only  Romans  guess  the  ex- 
tent. When  needed,  it  is  suddenly  produced  without 
confusion,  marked  and  numbered,  ready  to  be  put 
together  and  regilt  or  repainted,  or  hung  with  the  acres 
of  draperies  which  Latins  know  so  well  how  to  display 
in  everything  approaching  to  public  pageantry. 

At  dark,  on  the  Eve  of  the  Epiphany,  the  Befana 
begins.  The  hundreds  of  booths  are  choked  with  toys 
and  gleam  with  thousands  of  little  lights,  the  open 
spaces  are  thronged  by  a moving  crowd,  the  air  splits 
with  the  infernal  din  of  ten  thousand  whistles  and  tin 
trumpets.  Noise  is  the  first  consideration  for  a suc- 
cessful befana,  noise  of  any  kind,  shrill,  gruff,  high,  low 
— any  sort  of  noise;  and  the  first  purchase  of  everyone 
who  comes  must  be  a tin  horn,  a pipe,  or  one  of  those 
grotesque  little  figures  of  painted  earthenware,  repre- 
senting some  characteristic  type  of  Roman  life  and  hav- 
ing a whistle  attached  to  it,  so  cleverly  modelled  in  the 
clay  as  to  produce  the  most  hideous  noises  without  even 
the  addition  of  a wooden  plug.  But  anything  will  do. 
’On  a memorable  night  nearly  thirty  years  ago,  the 
whole  cornopean  stop  of  an  organ  was  sold  in  the  fair, 
amounting  to  seventy  or  eighty  pipes  with  their  reeds. 
The  instrument  in  the  old  English  Protestant  Church 
outside  of  Porta  del  Popolo  had  been  improved,  and  the 
organist,  who  was  a practical  Anglo-Saxon,  conceived 


300 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


the  original  and  economical  idea  of  selling  the  useless 
pipes  at  the  night  fair  for  the  benefit  of  the  church. 
The  braying  of  the  high,  cracked  reeds  was  frightful 
and  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Round  and  round  the  square,  three  generations  of 
families,  children,  parents  and  even  grandparents,  move 
in  a regular  stream,  closer  and  closer  towards  midnight 
and  supper-time ; nor  is  the  place  deserted  till  three 
o’clock  in  the  morning.  Toys  everywhere,  original 
with  an  attractive  ugliness,  nine-tenths  of  them  made  of 
earthenware  dashed  with  a kind  of  bright  and  harmless 
paint  of  which  every  Roman  child  remembers  the  taste 
for  life  ; and  old  and  young  and  middle-aged  all  blow 
their  whistles  and  horns  with  solemnly  ridiculous  per- 
tinacity, pausing  only  to  make  some  little  purchase  at 
the  booths,  or  to  exchange  a greeting  with  passing 
friends,  followed  by  an  especially  vigorous  burst  of 
noise  as  the  whistles  are  brought  close  to  each  other’s 
ears,  and  the  party  that  can  make  the  more  atrocious 
din  drives  the  other  half  deafened  from  the  field.  And 
the  old  women  who  help  to  keep  the  booths  sit  warm- 
ing their  skinny  hands  over  earthen  pots  of  coals  and 
looking  on  without  a smile  on  their  Sibylline  faces, 
while  their  sons  and  daughters  sell  clay  hunchbacks  and 
little  old  women  of  clay,  the  counterparts  of  their 
mothers,  to  the  passing  customers.  Thousands  upon 
thousands  of  people  throng  the  place,  and  it  is  warm 
with  the  presence  of  so  much  humanity,  even  under  the 


Parione 


301 


clear  winter  sky.  And  there  is  no  confusion,  no  acci- 
dent, no  trouble,  there  are  no  drunken  men  and  no 
pickpockets.  But  Romans  are  not  like  other  people. 

In  a few  days  all  is  cleared  away  again,  and  Bernini’s 
great  fountain  faces  Borromini’s  big  Church  of  Saint 
Agnes,  in  the  silence ; and  the  officious  guide  tells 
the  credulous  foreigner  how  the  figure  of  the  Nile  in 
the  group  is  veiling  his  head  to  hide  the  sight  of  the 
hideous  architecture,  and  how  the  face  of  the  Danube 
expresses  the  River  God’s  terror  lest  the  tower  should 
fall  upon  him  ; and  how  the  architect  retorted  upon 
the  sculptor  by  placing  Saint  Agnes  on  the  summit 
of  the  church,  in  the  act  of  reassuring  the  Romans  as 
to  the  safety  of  her  shrine ; and  again,  how  Bernini’s 
enemies  said  that  the  obelisk  of  the  fountain  was 
tottering,  till  he  came  alone  on  foot  and  tied  four 
lengths  of  twine  to  the  four  corners  of  the  pedestal, 
and  fastened  the  strings  to  the  nearest  houses,  in 
derision,  and  went  away  laughing.  It  was  at  that  time 
that  he  modelled  four  grinning  masks  for  the  corners 
of  his  sedan-chair,  so  that  they  seemed  to  be  making 
scornful  grimaces  at  his  detractors  as  he  was  carried 
along.  He  could  afford  to  laugh.  He  had  been  the 
favourite  of  Urban  the  Eighth  who,  when  Cardinal 
Barberini,  had  actually  held  the  looking-glass  by  the 
aid  of  which  the  handsome  young  sculptor  modelled 
his  own  portrait  in  the  figure  of  David  with  the  sling, 
now  in  the  Museum  of  Villa  Borghese.  After  a brief 


302 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


period  of  disgrace  under  the  next  reign,  brought  about 
by  the  sharpness  of  his  Neapolitan  tongue,  Bernini 
was  restored  to  the  favour  of  Innocent  the  Tenth, 
the  Pamfili  Pope,  to  please  whose  economical  tastes 
he  executed  the  fountain  in  Piazza  Navona,  after  a 
design  greatly  reduced  in  extent  as  well  as  in  beauty, 
compared  with  the  first  he  had  sketched.  But  an 
account  of  Bernini  would  lead  far  and  profit  little ; the 
catalogue  of  his  works  would  fill  a small  volume ; and 
after  all,  he  was  successful  only  in  an  age  when  art 
had  fallen  low.  In  place  of  Michelangelo’s  universal 
genius,  Bernini  possessed  a born  Neapolitan’s  universal 
facility.  He  could  do  something  of  everything,  cir- 
cumstances gave  him  enormous  opportunities,  and 
there  were  few  things  which  he  did  not  attempt, 
from  classic  sculpture  to  the  final  architecture  of 
Saint  Peter’s  and  the  fortifications  of  Sant’  Angelo. 
He  was  afflicted  by  the  hereditary  giantism  of  the 
Latins,  and  was  often  moved  by  motives  of  petty 
spite  against  his  inferior  rival,  Borromini.  His  best 
work  is  the  statue  of  Saint  Teresa  in  Santa  Maria 
della  Vittoria,  a figure  which  has  recently  excited  the 
ecstatic  admiration  of  a French  critic,  expressed  in 
language  that  betrays  at  once  the  fault  of  the  con- 
ception, the  taste  of  the  age  in  which  Bernini  lived, 
and  the  unhealthy  nature  of  the  sculptor’s  prolific 
talent.  Only  the  seventeenth  century  could  have  rep- 
resented such  a disquieting  fusion  of  the  sensuous  and 


/ 


Parione 


303 


the  spiritual,  and  it  was  reserved  for  the  decadence  of 
our  own  days  to  find  words  that  could  describe  it. 
Bernini  has  been  praised  as  the  Michelangelo  of  his 
day,  but  no  one  has  yet  been  bold  enough,  or  foolish 
enough,  to  + call  Michelangelo  the  Bernini  of  the  six- 


PIAZZA  NAVONA 

teenth  century.  Barely  sixty  years  elapsed  between 
the  death  of  the  one  and  birth  of  the  other,  and  the 
space  of  a single  lifetime  separates  the  zenith  of  the 
Renascence  from  the  nadir  of  Barocco  art. 

The  names  of  Bernini  and  of  Piazza  Navona  recall 
Innocent  the  Tenth,  who  built  the  palace  beside  the 


304 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Church  of  Saint  Agnes,  his  meannesses,  his  nepotism, 
his  weakness,  and  his  miserable  end ; how  his  relatives 
stripped  him  of  all  they  could  lay  hands  on,  and  how  at 
the  last,  when  he  died  in  the  only  shirt  he  possessed, 
covered  by  a single  ragged  blanket,  his  sister-in-law, 
Olimpia  Maldachini,  dragged  from  beneath  his  pallet 
bed  the  two  small  chests  of  money  which  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  concealing  to  the  end.  A brass  candlestick 
with  a single  burning  taper  stood  beside  him  in  his  last 
moments,  and  before  he  was  quite  dead,  a servant  stole 
it  and  put  a wooden  one  in  its  place.  When  he  was 
dead  at  the  Quirinal,  his  body  was  carried  to  Saint 
Peter’s  in  a bier  so  short  that  the  poor  Pope’s  feet  stuck 
out  over  the  end,  and  three  days  later,  no  one  could  be 
found  to  pay  for  the  burial.  Olimpia  declared  that  she 
was  a starving  widow  and  could  do  nothing;  the  corpse 
was  thrust  into  a place  where  the  masons  of  the  Vatican 
kept  their  tools,  and  one  of  the  workmen,  out  of  charity 
or  superstition,  lit  a tallow  candle  beside  it.  In  the 
end,  the  maggiordomo  paid  for  a deal  coffin,  and  Mon- 
signor Segni  gave  five  scudi  — an  English  pound  — to 
have  the  body  taken  away  and  buried.  It  was  slung 
between  two  mules  and  taken  by  night  to  the  Church 
of  Saint  Agnes,  where  in  the  changing  course  of  human 
and  domestic  events,  it  ultimately  got  an  expensive 
monument  in  the  worst  possible  taste.  The  learned 
and  sometimes  witty  Baracconi,  who  has  set  down  the 
story,  notes  the  fact  that  Leo  the  Tenth,  Pius  the 


/ 


Parione 


305 


Fourth  and  Gregory  the  Sixteenth  fared  little  better  in 
their  obsequies,  and  he  comments  upon  the  democratic 
spirit  of  a city  in  which  such  things  can  happen. 

Close  to  the  Piazza  Navona  stands  the  famous  muti- 
lated group,  known  as  Pasquino,  of  which  the  mere 
name  conveys  a better  idea  of  the  Roman  character 
than  volumes  of  description,  for  it  was  here  that  the 
pasquinades  were  published,  by  affixing  them  to  a pedes- 
tal at  the  corner  of  the  Palazzo  Braschi.  And  one  of 
Pasquino’s  bitterest  jests  was  directed  against  Olimpia 
Maldachini.  Her  name  was  cut  in  two,  to  make  a good 
Latin  pun:  ‘ Olim  pia,  nunc  impia,’  ‘once  pious,  now 
impious,’  or  ‘ Olimpia,  now  impious,’  as  one  chose  to 
join  or  separate  the  syllables.  Whole  books  have  been 
filled  with  the  short  and  pithy  imaginary  conversations 
between  Marforio,  the  statue  of  a river  god  which  used 
to  stand  in  the  Monti,  and  Pasquino,  beneath  whom  the 
Roman  children  used  to  be  told  that  the  book  of  all 
wisdom  was  buried  for  ever. 

In  the  Region  of  Parione  stands  the  famous  Cancel- 
leria,  a masterpiece  of  Bramante’s  architecture,  cele- 
brated for  many  events  in  the  later  history  of  Rome, 
and  successively  the  princely  residence  of  several  cardi- 
nals, chief  of  whom  was  that  strong  Pompeo  Cblonna, 
the  ally  of  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  who  was 
responsible  for  the  sacking  of  Rome  by  the  Constable 
of  Bourbon,  who  ultimately  ruined  the  Holy  League, 
and  imposed  his  terrible  terms  of  peace  upon  Clement 


VOL, 


x 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


306 

the  Seventh,  a prisoner  in  Sant’  Angelo.  Considering 
the  devastation  and  the  horrors  which  were  the  result 
of  that  contest,  and  its  importance  in  Rome’s  history,  it 
is  worth  while  to  tell  the  story  again.  Connected  with  it 
was  the  last  great  struggle  between  Orsini  and  Colonna, 
Orsini,  as  usual,  siding  for  the  Pope,  and  therefore  for 
the  Holy  League,  and  Colonna  for  the  Emperor. 

Charles  the  Fifth  had  vanquished  Francis  the  First 
at  Pavia,  in  the  year  1525,  and  had  taken  the  French 
King  prisoner.  A year  later  the  Holy  League  was 
formed,  between  Pope  Clement  the  Seventh,  the  King 
of  France,  the  Republics  of  Venice  and  Florence,  and 
Francesco  Sforza,  Duke  of  Milan.  Its  object  was  to 
fight  the  Emperor,  to  sustain  Sforza,  and  to  seize  the 
Kingdom  of  Naples  by  force.  Immediately  upon  the 
proclamation  of  the  League,  the  Emperor’s  ambassadors 
left  Rome,  the  Colonna  retired  to  their  strongholds,  and 
the  Emperor  made  preparations  to  send  Charles,  Duke 
of  Bourbon,  the  disgraced  relative  of  King  Francis, 
to  storm  Rome  and  reduce  the  imprisoned  Pope  to 
submission.  The  latter’s  first  and  nearest  source  of 
fear  lay  in  the  Colonna,  who  held  the  fortresses  and 
passes  between  Rome  and  the  Neapolitan  frontier,  and 
his  first  instinct  was  to  attack  them  with  the  help  of  the 
Orsini.  But  neither  side  was  ready  for  the  fight,  and 
the  timid  Pontiff  eagerly  accepted  the  promise  of  peace 
made  by  the  Colonna  in  order  to  gain  time,  and  he  dis- 
missed the  forces  he  had  hastily  raised  against  them. 


Parione 


307 


They,  in  the  mean  time,  treated  with  Moncada,  Regent 
of  Naples  for  the  Emperor,  and  at  once  seized  Anagni, 
put  several  thousand  men  in  the  field,  marched  upon 
Rome  with  incredible  speed,  seized  three  gates  in  the 
night,  and  entered  the  city  in  triumph  on  the  following 
morning.  The  Pope  and  the  Orsini,  completely  taken 
by  surprise,  offered  little  or  no  resistance.  According 


PONTE  SISTO 

From  a print  of  the  last  century 


to  some  writers,  it  was  Pompeo  Colonna’s  daring  plan  to 
murder  the  Pope,  force  his  own  election  to  the  Pontifi- 
cate by  arms,  destroy  the  Orsini,  and  open  Rome  to 
Charles  the  Fifth  ; and  when  the  Colonna  advanced  on 
the  same  day,  by  Ponte  Sisto,  to  Trastevere,  and  threat- 
ened to  attack  Saint  Peter’s  and  the  Vatican,  Clement  the 
Seventh,  remembering  Sciarra  and  Pope  Boniface,  was 


3°8 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


on  the  point  of  imitating  the  latter  and  arraying  himself 
in  his  Pontifical  robes  to  await  his  enemy  with  such 
dignity  as  he  could  command.  But  the  remonstrances 
of  the  more  prudent  cardinals  prevailed,  and  about  noon 
they  conveyed  him  safely  to  Sant’  Angelo  by  the  secret 
covered  passage,  leaving  the  Colonna  to  sack  Trastevere 
and  even  Saint  Peter’s  itself,  though  they  dared  not 
come  too  near  to  Sant’  Angelo  for  fear  of  its  cannons. 
The  tumult  over  at  last,  Don  Ugo  de  Moncada,  in  the 
Emperor’s  name,  took  possession  of  the  Pope’s  two 
nephews  as  hostages  for  his  own  safety,  entered  Sant’ 
Angelo  under  a truce,  and  stated  the  Emperor’s  condi- 
tions of  peace.  These  were,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
that  the  Pope  should  withdraw  his  troops,  wherever  he 
had  any,  and  that  the  Emperor  should  be  free  to  ad- 
vance wherever  he  pleased,  except  through  the  Papal 
States,  that  the  Pope  should  give  hostages  for  his  good 
faith,  and  that  he  should  grant  a free  pardon  to  all  the 
Colonna,  who  vaguely  agreed  to  withdraw  their  forces 
into  the  Kingdom  of  Naples.  To  this  humiliating 
peace,  or  armistice,  for  it  was  nothing  more,  the  Pope 
was  forced  by  the  prospect  of  starvation,  and  he  would 
even  have  agreed  to  sail  to  Barcelona  in  order  to 
confer  with  the  Emperor;  but  from  this  he  was  ulti- 
mately dissuaded  by  Henry  the  Eighth  of  England 
and  the  King  of  France,  ‘who  sent  him  certain  sums 
of  money  and  promised  him  their  support.’  The  con- 
sequence was  that  he  broke  the  truce  as  soon  as  he 


Parione 


309 


dared,  deprived  the  Cardinal  of  his  hat,  and,  with  the 
help  of  the  Orsini,  attacked  the  Colonna  by  surprise 
on  their  estates,  giving  orders  to  burn  their  castles 
and  raze  their  fortresses  to  the  ground.  Four  villages 
were  burned  before  the  surprised  party  could  recover 
itself ; but  with  some  assistance  from  the  imperial 
troops  they  were  soon  able  to  face  their  enemies  on 
equal  terms,  and  the  little  war  raged  fiercely  during 
several  months,  with  varying  success  and  all  possible 
cruelty  on  both  sides. 

Meanwhile  Charles,  Duke  of  Bourbon,  known  as  the 
Constable,  and  more  or  less  in  the  pay  of  the  Emperor, 
had  gathered  an  army  in  Lombardy.  His  force  con- 
sisted of  the  most  atrocious  ruffians  of  the  time, — 
Lutheran  Germans,  superstitious  Spaniards,  revolu- 
tionary Italians,  and  such  other  nondescripts  as  would 
join  his  standard,  — all  fellows  who  had  in  reality 
neither  country  nor  conscience,  and  were  ready  to 
serve  any  soldier  of  fortune  who  promised  them  plun- 
der and  license.  The  predominating  element  was 
Spanish,  but  there  was  not  much  to  choose  among 
them  all  so  far  as  their  instincts  were  concerned. 
Charles  was  penniless,  as  usual ; he  offered  his  horde 
of  cutthroats  the  rich  spoils  of  Tuscany  and  Rome, 
they  swore  to  follow  him  to  death  and  perdition,  and 
he  began  his  southward  march.  The  Emperor  looked 
on  with  an  approving  eye,  and  the  Pope  was  overcome 
by  abject  terror.  In  the  vain  hope  of  saving  himself 


3io 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


and  the  city  he  concluded  a truce  with  the  Viceroy 
of  Naples,  agreeing  to  pay  sixty  thousand  ducats, 
to  give  back  everything  taken  from  the  Colonna,  and 
to  restore  Pompeo  to  the  honours  of  the  cardinalate. 
The  conditions  of  the  armistice  were  forthwith  carried 
out,  by  the  disbanding  of  the  Pope’s  hired  soldiers 
and  the  payment  of  the  indemnity,  and  Clement  the 
Seventh  enjoyed  during  a few  weeks  the  pleasant 
illusion  of  fancied  safety. 

He  awoke  from  the  dream,  in  horror  and  fear,  to 
find  that  the  Constable  considered  himself  in  no  way 
bound  by  a peace  concluded  with  the  Emperor’s  Vice- 
roy, and  was  advancing  rapidly  upon  Rome,  ravaging 
and  burning  everything  in  his  way.  Hasty  prepara- 
tions for  defence  were  made ; a certain  Renzo  da  Ceri 
armed  such  men  as  he  could  enlist  with  such  weapons 
as  he  could  find,  and  sent  out  a little  force  of  grooms 
and  artificers  to  face  the  Constable’s  ruthless  Span- 
iards and  the  fierce  Germans  of  his  companion  free- 
booter, George  of  FTansperg,  or  Franzberg,  who  car- 
ried about  a silken  cord  by  which  he  swore  to  strangle 
the  Pope  with  his  own  hands.  The  enemy  reached 
the  walls  of  Rome  on  the  night  of  the  fifth  of  May ; 
devastation  and  famine  lay  behind  them  in  their  track, 
the  plunder  of  the  Church  was  behind  the  walls,  and 
far  from  northward  came  rumours  of  the  army  of  the 
League  on  its  way  to  cut  off  their  retreat.  They  re- 
solved to  win  the  spoil  or  die,  and  at  dawn  the  Con- 


Parione 


3i  i 

stable,  clad  in  a white  cloak,  led  the  assault  and  set  up 
the  first  scaling  ladder,  close  to  the  Porta  San  Spirito. 
In  the  very  act  a bullet  struck  him  in  a vital  part 
and  he  fell  headlong  to  the  earth.  Benvenuto  Cellini 
claimed  the  credit  of  the  shot,  but  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  it  sped  from  another  hand,  that  of  Ber- 
nardino Passeri ; it  matters  little  now,  it  mattered  less 
then,  as  the  infuriated  Spaniards  stormed  the  walls  in 
the  face  of  Camillo  Orsini’s  desperate  and  hopeless 
resistance,  yelling  ‘ Blood  and  the  Bourbon/  for  a 
war-cry. 

Once  more  the  wretched  Pope  fled  along  the  secret 
corridor  with  his  cardinals,  his  prelates  and  his  ser- 
vants ; for  although  he  might  yet  have  escaped  from 
the  doomed  city,  messengers  had  brought  word  that 
Cardinal  Pompeo  Colonna  had  ten  thousand  men-at- 
arms  in  the  Campagna,  ready  to  cut  off  his  flight, 
and  he  was  condemned  to  be  a terrified  spectator  of 
Rome’s  destruction  from  the  summit  of  a fortress 
which  he  dared  not  surrender  and  could  hardly  hope 
to  defend.  Seven  thousand  Romans  were  slaughtered 
in  the  storming  of  the  walls;  the  enemy  gained  all 
Trastevere  at  a blow  and  the  sack  began;  the  torrent 
of  fury  poured  across  Ponte  Sisto  into  Rome  itself,  thou- 
sands upon  thousands  of  steel-clad  madmen,  drunk  with 
blood  and  mad  with  the  glitter  of  gold,  a storm  of  un- 
imaginable terror.  Cardinals,  Princes  and  Ambassa- 
dors were  dragged  from  their  palaces,  and  when  greedy 


31 2 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


hands  had  gathered  up  all  that  could  be  taken  away,  fire 
consumed  the  rest,  and  the  miserable  captives  were 
tortured  into  promising  fabulous  ransoms  for  life  and 
limb.  Abbots,  priors  and  heads  of  religious  orders 
were  treated  with  like  barbarity,  and  the  few  who 
escaped  the  clutches  of  the  bloodthirsty  Spanish 
soldiers  fell  into  the  reeking  hands  of  the  brutal 
German  adventurers.  The  enormous  sum  of  six  mill- 
ion ducats  was  gathered  together  in  value  of  gold 
and  silver  bullion  and  of  precious  things,  and  as  much 
more  was  extorted  as  promised  ransom  from  the  gentle- 
men and  churchmen  and  merchants  of  Rome  by  the 
savage  tortures  of  the  lash,  the  iron  boot  and  the 
rack.  The  churches  were  stripped  of  all  consecrated 
vessels,  the  Sacred  Wafers  were  scattered  abroad  by 
the  Catholic  Spaniards  and  trampled  in  the  bloody 
ooze  that  filled  the  ways*  the  convents  were  stormed 
by  a rabble  in  arms  and  the  nuns  were  distributed  as 
booty  among  their  fiendish  captors,  mothers  and  chil- 
dren were  slaughtered  in  the  streets  and  drunken 
Spaniards  played  dice  for  the  daughters  of  honour- 
able citizens. 

From  the  surrounding  Campagna  the  Colonna 
entered  the  city  in  arms,  orderly,  silent  and  sober, 
and  from  their  well-guarded  fortresses  they  contem- 
plated the  ruin  they  had  brought  upon  Rome.  Cardinal 
Pompeo  installed  himself  in  his  palace  of  the  Cancel- 
leria  in  the  Region  of  Parione,  and  gave  shelter  to  such 


/ 


Parione 


3i3 


of  his  friends  as  might  be  useful  to  him  thereafter. 
In  revenge  upon  John  de’  Medici,  the  Captain  of  the 
Black  Bands,  whose  assistance  the  Pope  had  invoked, 
the  Cardinal  caused  the  Villa  Medici  on  Monte  Mario 
to  be  burned  to  the  ground,  and  Clement  the  Seventh 
watched  the  flames  from  the  ramparts  of  Sant’ 
Angelo.  One  good  action  is  recorded  of  the  savage 
churchman.  He  ransomed  and  protected  in  his  house 
the  wife  and  the  daughter  of  that  Giorgio  Santacroce 
who  had  murdered  the  Cardinal’s  father  by  night,  when 
the  Cardinal  himself  was  an  infant  in  arms,  more  than 
forty  years  earlier ; and  he  helped  some  of  his  friends  to 
escape  by  a chimney  from  the  room  in  which  they  had 
been  confined  and  tortured  into  promising  a ransom 
they  could  not  pay.  But  beyond  those  few  acts  he  did 
little  to  mitigate  the  horrors  of  the  month-long  sack, 
and  nothing  to  relieve  the  city  from  the  yoke  of  its 
terrible  captors.  The  Holy  League  sent  a small  force 
to  the  Pope’s  assistance  and  it  reached  the  gates  of 
Rome ; but  the  Spaniards  were  in  possession  of  im- 
mense stores  of  ammunition  and  provisions,  they  had 
more  horses  than  they  needed  and  more  arms  than 
they  could  bear ; the  forces  of  the  League  had 
traversed  a country  in  which  not  a blade  of  grass  had 
been  left  undevoured  nor  a measure  of  corn  uneaten  ; 
and  the  avengers  of  the  dead  Constable,  securely  forti- 
fied within  the  walls,  looked  down  with  contempt  upon 
an  army  already  decimated  by  sickness  and  starvation. 


3H 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


At  this  juncture,  Clement  the  Seventh  resolved  to 
abandon  further  resistance  and  sue  for  peace.  The 
guns  of  Sant’  Angelo  had  all  but  fired  their  last  shot, 
and  the  supply  of  food  was  nearly  exhausted,  when  the 
Pope  sent  for  Cardinal  Colonna ; the  churchman  con- 
sented to  a parley,  and  the  man  who  had  suffered  confis- 
cation and  disgrace  entered  the  castle  as  the  arbiter  of 
destiny.  He  was  received  as  the  mediator  of  peace  and 
a benefactor  of  humanity,  and  when  he  stated  his  terms 
they  were  not  refused.  The  Pope  and  the  thirteen 
Cardinals  who  were  with  him  were  to  remain  prisoners 
until  the  payment  of  four  hundred  thousand  ducats  of 
gold,  after  which  they  were  to  be  conducted  to  Naples 
to  await  the  further  pleasure  of  the  Emperor ; the 
Colonna  were  to  be  absolutely  and  freely  pardoned 
for  all  they  had  done ; in  the  hope  of  some  subsequent 
assistance  the  Pope  promised  to  make  Cardinal  Colonna 
the  Legate  of  the  Marches.  As  a hostage  for  the  per- 
formance of  these  and  other  conditions,  Cardinal  Orsini 
was  delivered  over  to  his  enemy,  who  conducted  him  as 
his  prisoner  to  the  Castle  of  Grottaferrata,  and  the 
Colonna  secretly  agreed  to  allow  the  Pope  to  go  free 
from  Sant’  Angelo.  On  the  night  of  December  the 
ninth,  seven  months  after  the  storming  of  the  city,  the 
head  of  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church 
fled  from  the  castle  in  the  humble  garb  of  a market- 
gardener,  and  made  good  his  escape  to  Orvieto  and  to 
the  protection  of  the  Holy  League. 


Parione 


315 


Meanwhile  a pestilence  had  broken  out  in  Rome,  and 
the  spectre  of  a mysterious  and  mortal  sickness  dis- 
tracted those  who  had  survived  the  terrors  of  sword 
and  flame.  The  Spanish  and  German  soldiery  either 
fell  victims  to  the  plague  or  deserted  in  haste  and  fear ; 
and  though  Cardinal  Pompeo’s  peace  contained  no 
promise  that  the  city  should  be  evacuated,  it  was  after- 
wards stated  upon  credible  authority  that,  within  two 
years  from  their  coming,  not  one  of  the  barbarous 
horde  was  left  alive  within  the  walls.  When  all  was 
over  the  city  was  little  more  than  a heap  of  ruins,  but 
the  Colonna  had  been  victorious,  and  were  sated  with 
revenge.  This,  in  brief,  is  the  history  of  the  storming 
and  sacking  of  Rome  which  took  place  in  the  year  1527, 
at  the  highest  development  of  the  Renascence,  in  the 
youth  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  when  Michelangelo  had 
not  yet  painted  the  Last  Judgment,  when  Titian  was 
just  fifty  years  old,  and  when  Raphael  and  Lionardo  da 
Vinci  were  but  lately  dead  ; and  the  contrast  between 
the  sublimity  of  art  and  the  barbarity  of  human  nature 
in  that  day  is  only  paralleled  in  the  annals  of  our  own 
century,  at  once  the  bloodiest  and  the  most  civilized  in 
the  history  of  the  world. 

The  Cancelleria,  wherein  Pompeo  Colonna  sheltered 
the  wife  and  daughter  of  his  father’s  murderer,  is  remem- 
bered for  some  modern  political  events  : for  the  opening 
of  the  first  representative  parliament  under  Pius  the 
Ninth,  in  1848,  for  the  assassination  of  the  Pope’s  min- 


3l6 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


ister,  Pellegrino  Rossi,  on  the  steps  of  the  entrance  in 
the  same  year,  and  as  the  place  where  the  so-called 
Roman  Republic  was  proclaimed  in  1849.  But  it  is 
most  of  all  interesting  for  the  nobility  of  its  proportions 
and  the  simplicity  of  its  architecture.  It  is  undeniably, 
and  almost  undeniedly,  the  best  building  in  Rome  to- 
day, though  that  may  not  be  saying  much  in  a city 


THE  CANCELLERIA 
From  a print  of  the  last  century 


which  has  been  more  exclusively  the  prey  of  the  Barocco 
than  any  other. 

The  Palace  of  the  Massimo,  once  built  to  follow  the 
curve  of  a narrow  winding  street,  but  now  facing  the 
same  great  thoroughfare  as  the  Cancelleria,  has  some- 
thing of  the  same  quality,  with  a wholly  different  char- 
acter. It  is  smaller  and  more  gloomy,  and  its  columns 


Parione 


317 


are  almost  black  with  age;  it  was  here,  in  1455,  that 
Pannartz  and  Schweinheim,  two  of  those  nomadic  Ger- 
man scholars  who  have  not  yet  forgotten  the  road  to 
Italy,  established  their  printing-press  in  the  house  of 
Pietro  de’  Massimi,  and  here  took  place  one  of  those 
many  romantic  tragedies  which  darkened  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  For  a certain  Signore  Massimo,  in 
the  year  1585,  had  been  married  and  had  eight  sons, 
mostly  grown  men,  when  he  fell  in  love  with  a light- 
hearted lady  of  more  wit  than  virtue,  and  announced 
that  he  would  make  her  his  wife,  though  his  sons 
warned  him  that  they  would  not  bear  the  slight  upon 
their  mother’s  memory.  The  old  man,  infatuated  and 
beside  himself  with  love,  would  not  listen  to  them,  but 
published  the  banns,  married  the  woman,  and  brought 
her  home  for  his  wife. 

One  of  the  sons,  the  youngest,  was  too  timid  to  join 
the  rest ; but  on  the  next  morning  the  seven  others 
went  to  the  bridal  apartment,  and  killed  their  step- 
mother when  their  father  was  away.  But  he  came  back 
before  she  was  quite  dead,  and  he  took  the  Crucifix 
from  the  wall  by  the  bed  and  cursed  his  children.  And 
the  curse  was  fulfilled  upon  them. 

Parione  is  the  heart  of  Mediaeval  Rome,  the  very  cen- 
tre of  that  black  cloud  of  mystery  which  hangs  over  the 
city  of  the  Middle  Age.  A history  might  be  composed 
out  of  Pasquin’s  sayings,  volumes  have  been  written 
about  Cardinal  Pompeo  Colonna  and  the  ruin  he 


3 1 8 Ave  Roma  Immortal  is 

wrought,  whole  books  have  been  filled  with  the  life 
and  teachings  and  miracles  of  Saint  Philip  Neri,  who 
belonged  to  this  quarter,  erected  here  his  great  oratory, 
and  is  believed  to  have  recalled  from  the  dead  a youth 
of  the  house  of  Massimo  in  that  same  gloomy  palace. 

The  story  of  Rome  is  a tale  of  murder  and  sudden 
death,  varied,  changing,  never  repeated  in  the  same 
way ; there  is  blood  on  every  threshold ; a tragedy 
lies  buried  in  every  church  and  chapel ; and  again  we 
ask  in  vain  wherein  lies  the  magic  of  the  city  that  has 
fed  on  terror  and  grown  old  in  carnage,  the  charm 
that  draws  men  to  her,  the  power  that  holds,  the 
magic  that  enthralls  men  soul  and  body,  as  Lady  Venus 
cast  her  spells  upon  Tannhauser  in  her  mountain  of  old. 
Yet  none  deny  it,  and  as  centuries  roll  on,  the  poets, 
the  men  of  letters,  the  musicians,  the  artists  of  all  ages, 
have  come  to  her  from  far  countries  and  have  dwelt 
here  while  they  might,  some  for  long  years,  some  for 
the  few  months  they  could  spare ; and  all  of  them  have 
left  something,  a verse,  a line,  a sketch,  a song  that 
breathes  the  threefold  mystery  of  love,  eternity  and 
death. 


/ 


Index 


A 

Abruzzi,  i.  159;  ii.  230 
Accoramboni,  Flaminio,  i.  296 

\ ittoria,  i.  135,  148,  289-296,  297 
Agrarian  Law,  i.  23 
Agrippa,  i.  90,  271 ; ii.  102 
the  Younger,  ii.  103 
Alaric,  i.  252;  ii.  297 
Alba  Longa,  i.  3,  78,  130 
Albergo  dell’  Orso,  i.  288 
Alberic,  ii.  29 
Albornoz,  ii.  19,  20,  74 
Aldobrandini,  i.  209;  ii.  149 
Olimpia,  i.  209 
Alfonso,  i.  185 
Aliturius,  ii.  103 
Altieri,  i.  226;  ii.  45 
Ammianus  Marcellinus,  i.  132,  133,  138 
Amphitheatre,  Flavian,  i.  91,  179 
Amulius,  i.  3 

Anacletus,  ii.  295,  296,  304 
Anagni,  i.  161,  165,  307;  ii.  4,  5 
Ancus  Martius,  i.  4 

Angelico,  Beato,  ii.  158,  169,  190-192,  195, 
285 

Anguillara,  i.  278;  ii.  138 
Titta  della,  ii.  138,  139 
Anio,  the,  i.  93 
Novus,  i.  144 
Vetus,  i.  144 

Annibaleschi,  Riccardo  degli,  i.  278 
Antiochus,  ii.  120 
Antipope  — 

Anacletus,  ii.  84 
Boniface,  ii.  28 
Clement,  i.  126 
Gilbert,  i.  127 
John  of  Calabria,  ii.  33-37 
Antonelli,  Cardinal,  ii.  217,  223,  224 
Antonina,  i.  266 
Antonines,  the,  i.  113,  191,  271 
Antoninus,  Marcus  Aurelius,  i.  46,  96,  113, 
114,  190,  191 
Appian  Way,  i.  22,  94 


Appius  Claudius,  i.  14,  29 
Apulia,  Duke  of,  i.  126,  127;  ii.  77 
Aqua  Virgo,  i.  155 
Aqueduct  of  Claudius,  i.  144 
Arbiter,  Petronius,  i.  85 
Arch  of — 

Arcadius,  i.  192 
Claudius,  i.  155 
Domitian,  i.  191,  205 
Gratian,  i.  191 

Marcus  Aurelius,  i.  96,  191,  205 
Portugal,  i.  205 
Septimius  Severus,  ii.  93 
Valens,  i.  191 
Archive  House,  ii.  75 
Argiletum,  the,  i.  72 
Ariosto,  ii.  149,  174 
Aristius,  i.  70,  71 
Arnold  of  Brescia,  ii.  73,  76-89 
Arnulf,  ii.  41 
Art,  i.  87  ; ii  152 

and  morality,  i.  260,  261 ; ii.  178,  179 
religion,  i.  260,  261 
Barocco,  i.  303,  316 
Byzantine  in  Italy,  ii.  155,  184,  185 
development  of  taste  in,  ii.  198 
factors  in  the  progress  of  art,  ii.  181 
engraving,  ii.  186 
improved  tools,  ii.  181 
individuality,  i.  262;  ii.  175-177 
Greek  influence  on,  i.  57-63. 
modes  of  expression  of,  ii.  181 
fresco,  ii.  181-183 
oil  painting,  ii.  184-186 
of  the  Renascence,  i.  231,  262;  ii.  154 
phases  of,  in  Italy,  ii.  188 
progress  of,  during  the  Middle  Age,  ii. 

166,  180 

transition  from  handicraft  to,  ii.  153 
Artois,  Count  of,  i.  161 
Augustan  Age,  i.  57-77 
Augustulus,  i.  30,  47,  53;  ii.  64 
Augustus,  i.  30, 43-48, 69,  82, 89, 90, 184, 219, 
251,  252,  254,  270;  ii.  64,  75,  95, 102,  291 
I Aurelian,  i.  177,  179,  180;  ii.  150 


319 


320 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Avalos,  Francesco,  d’,  i.  174,  175 
Aventine,  the,  i.  23,  76;  ii.  10,  40,  85,  119- 
121,  124,  125,  126,  127,  129,  132,  302 
Avignon,  i.  167,  273,  277;  ii.  6,  9 


B 

Bacchanalia,  ii.  122 
Bacchic  worship,  i.  76;  ii.  120 
Bajazet  the  Second,  Sultan,  i.  276 
Baracconi,  i.  104,  141,  178,  188,  252,  264, 
274,  304;  ii.  41,  45,  128,  130,  138,  323 
Barberi,  i.  202 

Barberini,  the,  i.  157, 187,  226,  268,  301 ; ii.  7 
Barbo,  i.  202;  ii.  45 
Barcelona,  i.  308 

Bargello,  the,  i.  129,  293,  296;  ii.  42 
Basil  and  Constantine,  ii.  33 
Basilica  (Pagan)  — 

Julia,  i.  66,  71,  106;  ii.  92 
Basilicas  (Christian)  of — 

Constantine,  i.  90;  ii.  992,  297 
Liberius,  i.  138 
Philip  and  Saint  James,  i.  170 
Saint  John  Lateran,  i.  107,  112,  117, 
278,  281 

Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  i.  107,  135,  139, 
147,  148,  166,  208,  278;  ii.  118 
Santi  Apostoli,  i.  157, 170-172,  205,  241, 
242;  ii.  213 
Sicininus,  i.  134,  138 
Baths,  i.  91 

of  Agrippa,  i.  271 
of  Caracalla,  ii.  119 
of  Constantine,  i.  144,  188 
of  Diocletian,  i.  107,  129,  145-147,  149, 
289,  292. 

of  Novatus,  i.  145 
of  Philippus,  i.  145 
of  public,  i.  144 
of  Severus  Alexander,  ii.  28 
of  Titus,  i.  55,  107,  152 
Befana,  the,  i.  298,  299,  300;  ii.  25 
Belisarius,  i.  266,  267,  269 
Benediction  of  1846,  the,  i.  183 
Benevento,  Cola  da,  i.  219,  220 
Bernard,  ii.  77-80 
Bernardi,  Gianbattista,  ii.  54 
Bernini,  i.  147,  301,  302,  303;  ii.  24 
Bibbiena,  Cardinal,  ii.  146,  285 
Maria,  ii.  146 

Bismarck,  ii.  224,  232,  236,  237 
Boccaccio,  i.  21 1,  213 
Vineyard,  the,  i.  189 
Bologna,  i.  259;  ii.  58 


Borghese,  the,  i.  206,  226 
Scipio,  i.  187 
Borgia,  the,  i.  209 

Caesar,  i.  149,  151,  169,  213,  287;  ii. 

150,  171,  282,  283 
Gandia,  i.  149,  150,  151,  287 
Lucrezia,  i.  149,  177,  185,  287;  ii.  129, 

151.  174 

Rodrigo,  i.  287;  ii.  242,  265,  282 
Vanozza,  i.  149,  151,  287 
Borgo,  the  Region,  i.  101,  127;  ii.  132,  147, 
202-214,  269 

Borromini,  i.  301,  302;  ii.  24 
Botticelli,  ii.  188,  190,  195,  200,  276 
Bracci,  ii.  318 

Bracciano,  i.  282,  291,  292,  294 
Duke  of,  i.  289 

Bramante,  i.  305;  ii.  144,  145,  274,  298,  322 
Brescia,  i.  286 
Bridge.  See  Ponte 
iElian,  the,  i.  274 
Cestian,  ii.  105 
Fabrician,  ii.  105 

Sublician,  i.  6,  23,  67;  ii.  127,  294. 
Brotherhood  of  Saint  John  Beheaded,  ii. 
129,  131 

Brothers  of  Prayer  and  Death,  i.  123,  204, 

242 

Brunelli,  ii.  244 

Brutus,  i.  6, 12,  18,  41,  58,  80;  ii.  96 
Buffalmacco,  ii.  196 
Bull-fights,  i.  252 
Burgundians,  i.  251 


c 

Caesar,  Julius,  i.  29-33,  35~4i>  25°»  “•  io2> 
224,  297 

Caesars,  the,  i.  44-46,  125,  249,  252,  253;  ii. 
224 

Julian,  i.  252 

Palaces  of,  i.  4,  191 ; ii.  95 
Caetani,  i.  51,  1x5,  159,  161,  163,  206,  277 
Benedict,  i.  160 
Caligula,  i.  46,  252;  ii.  96 
Campagna,  the,  i.  92,  94,  158,  237,  243,  253, 
282,  312;  ii.  88,  107,  120 
Campitelli,  the  Region,  i.  101 ; ii.  64 
Campo  — 

dei  Fiori,  i.  297 

Marzo  (Campus  Martius),  i.  65, 112,  271 
the  Region,  i.  101,  248,  250,  275;  ii.  6,  44 
Vaccino,  i.  128-131,  173 
Canale,  Carle,  i.  287 

Cancelleria,  i.  102,  305,  312,  315,  316;  ii.  223 


Index 


Canidia,  i.  64;  ii.  293 
Canossa,  i.  126;  ii.  307 
Canova,  ii.  320 
Capet,  Hugh,  ii.  29 

Capitol,  the,  i.  8,  14,  24,  29,  72,  107,  112, 
167,  190,  204,  278,  282;  ii.  12,  13,  21,  22, 
52,  64,  65,  67-75,  84,  121,  148,  302 
Capitoline  hill,  i.  106,  194 
Captains  of  the  Regions,  i.  no,  112,  114 
Election  of,  i.  112 
Caracci,  the,  i.  264 
Carafa,  the,  ii.  46,  49,  50,  56,  in 
Cardinal,  i.  186,  188;  ii.  56,  204 
Carnival,  i.  107,  193-203,  241,  298;  ii.  113 
of  Saturn,  i.  194 

Carpineto,  ii.  229,  230,  232,  239,  287 
Carthage,  i.  20,  26,  88 
Castagno,  Andrea,  ii.  89,  185 
Castle  of— 

Grottaferrata,  i.  314 
Petrella,  i.  286 
the  Piccolomini,  i.  268 
Sant’  Angelo,  i.  114,  116,  120,  126,  127, 
128,  129,  259,  278,  284,  308,  314;  ii.  17, 
28,  37,  40,  56,  59,  60, 109, 152,  202-214, 
216,  269 

Castracane,  Castruccio,  i.  165,  166,  170 
Catacombs,  the,  i.  139 

of  Saint  Petronilla,  ii.  125 
Sebastian,  ii.  296 
Catanei,  Vanossa  de,  i.  287 
Catharine,  Queen  of  Cyprus,  ii.  305 
Cathedral  of  Siena,  i.  232 
Catiline,  i.  27;  ii.  96,  294 
Cato,  ii.  121 
Catullus,  i.  86 

Cavour,  Count,  ii.  90,  224,  228,  237 
Cellini,  Benvenuto,  i.  311,  315;  ii.  157,  195 
Cenci,  the,  ii.  1 

Beatrice,  i.  147,  285-287;  ii.  2,  129,  151 
Francesco,  i.  285;  ii.  2 
Centra  Pio,  ii.  238,  239 
Ceri,  Renzo  da,  i.  310 
Cesarini,  Giuliano,  i.  174;  ii.  54>  89 
Chapel,  Sixtine.  See  under  Vatican 
Charlemagne,  i.  32, 49, 51,  53,  76, 109;  ii.  297 
Charles  of  Anjou,  i.  ii.  160 
Albert  of  Sardinia,  ii.  221 
the  Fifth,  i.  131,  174,  206,  220,  305,  306; 
ii.  138 

Chiesa.  See  Church 
Nuova,  i.  275 
Chigi,  the,  i.  258 

Agostino,  ii.  144,  146 
Fabio,  ii.  146 

Christianity  in  Rome,  i.  176 
VOL.  I 


321 

Christina,  Queen  of  Sweden,  ii.  150,  151, 
3°4»  3°8 

Chrysostom,  ii.  104,  105. 

Churches  of,  — 

the  Apostles,  i.  157,  170-172,  205,  241, 
242;  ii.  213 

Aracoeli,  i.  52,  112,  167;  ii.  57,  70,  75 

Cardinal  Mazarin,  i.  186 

the  Gallows,  i.  284 

Holy  Guardian  Angel,  i.  122 

the  Minerva,  ii.  55 

the  Penitentiaries,  ii.  216 

the  Portuguese,  i.  250 

Saint  Adrian,  i.  71 

Agnes,  i.  301,  304 
Augustine,  ii.  207 
Bernard,  i.  291 
Callixtus,  ii.  125 
Charles,  i.  251 
Eustace,  ii.  23,  24,  26,  39 
George  in  Velabro,  i.  195;  ii.  10 
Gregory  on  the  Aventine,  ii.  129 
Ives,  i.  251;  ii.  23,  24 
John  of  the  Florentines,  i.  273 
Pine  Cone,  ii.  56 
Peter’s  on  the  Janiculum,  ii.  129 
Sylvester,  i.  176 

Saints  Nereus  and  Achillaeus,  ii.  125 
Vincent  and  Anastasius,  i.  186 
San  Clemente,  i.  143 

Giovanni  in  Laterano,  i.  113 
Lorenzo  in  Lucina,  i.  192 
Miranda,  i.  71 
Marcello,  i.  165,  192 
Pietro  in  Montorio,  ii.  151 

Vincoli,  i.  118,  283;  ii.  322 
Salvatore  in  Cacaberis,  i.  112 
Stefano  Rotondo,  i.  106 
Sant’  Angelo  in  Pescheria,  i.  102;  ii.  3, 
10,  110 

Santa  Francesca  Romana,  i.  111 
Maria  de  Crociferi,  i.  267 

degli  Angeli,  i.  146,  258, 
259 

dei  Monti,  i.  118 
del  Pianto,  i.  113 
di  Grotto  Pinta,  i.  294 
in  Campo  Marzo,  ii.  23 
in  Via  Lata,  i.  142 
Nuova,  i.  hi,  273 
Transpontina,  ii.  212 
della  Vittoria,  i.  302 
Prisca,  ii.  124 
Sabina,  i.  278;  ii.  40 
Triniti  dei  Pellegrini,  ii.  no 
Cicero,  i.  45,  73;  “•  96»  294 


Y 


322 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Cimabue,  ii.  156,  157,  162,  163,  169,  188,  ] 
189 

Cinna,  i.  25,  27 
Circolo,  ii.  245 
Circus,  the,  i.  64,  253 

Maximus,  i.  64,  66;  ii.  84,  119 
City  of  Augustus,  i.  57-77 
Making  of  the,  i.  1-21 
of  Rienzi,  i.  93;  ii.  6-8 
of  the  Empire,  i.  22-56 
of  the  Middle  Age,  i.  47,  78-99,  92 
of  the  Republic,  i.  47 
today,  i.  55,  92 
Civilization,  ii.  177 

and  bloodshed,  ii.  218 
morality,  ii.  178 
progress,  ii.  177-180 
Claudius,  i.  46,  255,  256;  ii.  102 
Cloelia,  i.  13 
Coelian  hill,  i.  106 
Collegio  Romano,  i.  102;  ii.  45,  61 
Colonna,  the,  i.  51,  94,  104,  135,  153,  157- 
170,  172,  176,  187,  206,  217,  251,  252, 
271,  272,  275-283,  306-315 ; ii.  2,  6,  8, 10, 
16,  20,  37,  51,  54,  60,  106,  107,  126,  204, 
Giovanni,  i.  104 
Jacopo,  i.  159,  165,  192 
Lorenzo,  ii.  126,  204-213 
Marcantonio,  i.  182;  ii.  54 
Pietro,  i.  159 

Pompeo,  i.  305,  310-3x7;  ii.  205 
Prospero,  ii.  205 

Sciarra,  i.  162-166,  192,  206,  213,  229, 
279,  275,  281,  307 
Stephen,  i.  161,  165;  ii.  13,  16 
the  Younger,  i.  168 
Vittoria,  i.  157,  173-177;  ii.  174 
the  Region,  i.  101,  190-192;  ii.  209 
War  between  Orsini  and,  i.  51,  104, 
159, 168,  182,  275-283,  306-3x5;  ii.  12, 
18,  126,  204-211 

Colosseum,  i.  56,  86,  90,  96,  xo6,  107,  ixx, 
125,  152,  153,  187,  191,  209,  278;  ii.  25, 
64,  66,  84,  97,  202,  203,  301 
Column  of  Piazza  Colonna  i.  190,  192 
Comitium,  i.  112,  257,  268 
Commodus,  i.  4 ,55;  ii.  97,  285 
Confraternities,  i.  108,  204 
Conscript  Fathers,  i.  78,  112 
Constable  of  Bourbon,  i.  52,  259,  273,  304, 
309-311;  ii.  308 
Constans,  i.  135,  136 
Constantine,  i.  90,  113,  163 
Constantinople,  i.  95,  119 
Contests  in  the  Forum,  i.  27,  130 
Convent  of  Saint  Catharine,  i.  176 


] Convent  of  Saint  Sylvester,  i.  176 
Corneto,  Cardinal  of,  ii.  282,  283 
Cornomania,  i.  141 
Cornutis,  i.  87 
Coromania,  i.  141,  144 
Corsini,  the,  ii.  150 

Corso,  i.  96,  106,  108,  192,  196,  205,  206, 
229,  251 

Vittorio  Emanuele,  i.  275 
Corte  Savella,  i.  284;  ii.  52 
Cosmas,  the,  ii.  156,  157 
Costa,  Giovanni  da,  i.  205 
Court  House,  i.  71 
Crassus,  i.  27,  31 ; ii.  128 
Crawford,  Thomas,  i.  147 
Crescentius,  ii.  40,  41 
Crescenzi,  i.  114;  ii.  27,  40,  209 
Crescenzio,  ii.  28-40 
Stefana,  ii.  39 
Crispi,  i.  1 16,  187 
Crusade,  the  Second,  ii.  86,  105 
Crusades,  the,  i.  76 
Curatii,  i.  3,  131 
Customs  of  early  Rome,  i.  9,  48 
in  dress,  i.  48 
religion,  i.  48 


D 

Dante,  i.  no;  ii.  164,  175,  244 
Decameron,  i.  239 
Decemvirs,  i.  14;  ii.  120 
Decrees,  Semiamiran,  i.  178 
Democracy,  i.  108 
Development  of  Rome,  i.  7,  18 
some  results  of,  i.  154 
under  Barons,  i.  51 

Decemvirs,  i.  14 
the  Empire,  i.  29,  30 
Gallic  invasion,  i.  15-18 
Kings,  i.  2-7,  14-45 
Middle  Age,  i.  47,  92,  210-247 
Papal  rule,  i.  46-50 
Republic,  i.  7-14 
Tribunes,  i.  14 
Dictator  of  Rome,  i.  29,  79 
Dietrich  of  Bern,  ii.  297 
Dionysus,  ii.  121 
Dolabella,  i.  34 
Domenichino,  ii.  147 
Domestic  life  in  Rome,  i.  9 
Dominicans,  i.  158;  ii.  45,  46,  49,  50,  60,  61 
Domitian,  i.  45,  152,  205;  ii.  104,  114,  124, 


Index 


323 


Doria,  the,  i.  206;  ii.  45 
Albert,  i.  207 
Andrea,  i.  207 
Conrad,  i.  207 
Gian  Andrea,  i.  207 
Lamba,  i.  207 
Paganino,  i.  207 
Doria-Pamfili,  i.  206-209 
Dress  in  early  Rome,  i.  48 
Drusus,  ii.  102 

Duca,  Antonio  del,  i.  146,  147 
Giacomo  del,  i.  146 
Diirer,  Albert,  ii.  198 


E 

Education,  ii.  179 
Egnatia,  i.  75 

Elagabalus,  i.  77,  177,  179;  ii.  296,  297 
Election  of  the  Pope,  ii.  41,  42,  277 
Electoral  Wards,  i.  107 
Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England,  ii.  47 
Emperors,  Roman,  i.  46 
of  the  East,  i.  95,  126 
Empire  of  Constantinople,  i.  46 

of  Rome,  i.  15,  17,  22-28,  31,  45,  47,  53, 
60,  72,  99 
Encyclicals,  ii.  244 
Erasmus,  ii.  151 

Esquiline,  the,  i.  26,  106,  139,  186;  ii.  95, 
131,  i93 

Este,  Ippolito  d’,  i.  185 
Etruria,  i.  12,  15 
Euodus,  i.  255,  256 
Eustace,  Saint,  ii.  24,  25 
square  of,  ii.  25,  42 
Eustachio.  See  Sant’  Eustachio 
Eutichianus,  ii.  296 
Eve  of  Saint  John,  i.  140 
the  Epiphany,  299 


F 

Fabius,  i.  20 
Fabatosta,  ii.  64,  84 
Farnese,  the,  ii.  151 
Julia,  ii.  324 

Farnesina,  the,  ii.  144,  149,  151 
Fathers,  Roman,  i.  13,  78,  79-84 
Ferdinand,  ii.  205 
Ferrara,  Duke  of,  i.  185 
Festivals,  i.  193,  298 

Aryan  in  origin,  i.  173 
Befana,  i.  299-301 


Festivals  — 

Carnival,  i.  193-203 

Church  of  the  Apostle,  i.  172, 173 

Coromania,  i.  141 

Epifania,  i.  298-301 

Floralia,  i.  141 

Lupercalia,  i.  194 

May-day  in  the  Campo  Vaccino,  i.  173 
Saturnalia,  i.  194 
Saint  John’s  Eve,  i.  140 
Festus,  ii.  128 
Feuds,  family,  i.  168 
Field  of  Mars.  See  Campo  Marzo 
Finiguerra,  Maso,  ii.  186-188 
Flamen  Dialis,  i.  34 
Floralia.  See  Festivals 
Florence,  i.  160 
Forli,  Melozzo  da,  i.  171 
Fornarina,  the,  ii.  144,  146 
Forum,  i,  8,  9,  11,  14,  15,  17,  26,  27,  64,  72, 
hi,  126,  129,  194;  ii.  64,  92-94,  97,  102, 

294,  295 

of  Augustus,  i.  1 19 

Trajan,  i.  155,  171,  172,  191 
Fountains  (Fontane)  of  — 

Egeria,  ii.  124 
Trevi,  i.  155,  156,  186,  267 
Tullianum,  i.  8 
Franconia,  Duke  of,  ii.  36,  53 
Francis  the  First,  i.  131,  174,  206,  219,  304 
Frangipani,  i.  50,  94,  153  ; ii.  77,  79,  84,  85 
Frederick,  Barbarossa,  ii.  34,  85,  87 
of  Naples,  i.  151 
the  Second,  ii.  34 
Fulvius,  ii.  121 


G 

Gabrini,  Lawrence,  ii.  4 

Nicholas,  i.  23,  93,  103,  168,  21 1,  281 
ii.  3-23.  3°8 
Gaeta,  ii.  36 
Galba,  ii.  295 
Galen,  i.  55 
Galera,  i.  282,  291 
Galileo,  i.  268 
Gardens,  i.  93 

Caesar’s,  i.  66,  68 
of  Lucullus,  i.  254,  270 
of  the  Pigna,  ii.  273 
Pincian,  i.  255 
the  Vatican,  ii.  243,  271,  287 
Gargonius,  i.  65 

Garibaldi,  ii.  90,  219,  220,  228,  237 
Gastaldi,  Cardinal,  i.  259 


324 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Gate.  See  Porta 

the  Colline,  i.  250 

Lateran,  i.  126,  154 
Septimian,  ii.  144,  147 
Gebhardt.  fimile,  i.  2x3 
Gemonian  Steps,  ii.  67,  294 
Genseric,  i.  96;  ii.  70 
George  of  Franzburg,  i.  310 
Gherardesca,  Ugolino  della,  ii.  160 
Ghetto,  i.  102;  ii.  2,  101,  110-118 
Ghibellines,  the,  i.  129,  153,  158;  ii.  6 
Ghiberti,  ii.  157. 

Ghirlandajo,  ii.  157,  172,  276 
Giantism,  i.  90-92,-210,  302 
Gibbon,  i.  160 

Giotto,  ii.  157,  160-165,  169,  188,  189,  200 
Gladstone,  ii.  231,  232 
Golden  Milestone,  i.  72,  92,  194 
Goldoni,  i.  265 

Goldsmithing,  ii.  156,  157,  186,  187 
**  Good  Estate  ” of  Rienzi,  ii.  10-12 
Gordian,  i.  91 
Goths,  ii.  297,  307. 

Gozzoli,  Benozzo,  ii.  190,  195 
Gracchi,  the,  i.  22,  28 
Caius,  i.  23;  ii.  84 
Cornelia,  i.  22,  24 
Tiberius,  i.  23;  ii.  102 
Gratidianus,  i.  27 

Guards,  Noble,  ii.  241,  243,  247,  248,  309, 
310,  312 

Palatine,  ii.  247,  248 
Swiss,  ii.  246,  247,  310 
Guelphs,  i.  159;  ii.  42,  126,  138 

and  Ghibellines,  i.  129,  153,  275;  ii.  160, 
162,  173 

Guiscard,  Robert,  i.  95,  126,  127,  129,  144, 
252;  ii.  70 


H 

Hadrian,  i.  90,  180;  ii.  25,  202,  203 
Hannibal,  i.  20 
Hasdrubal,  i.  21 
Henry  the  Second,  ii.  47 

Fourth,  i.  126,  127;  ii.  307 
Fifth,  ii.  307 

Seventh  of  Luxemburg,  i.  273, 
276-279;  ii.  5 
Eighth,  i.  219;  ii.  47,  274 
Hermann,  i.  46 
Hermes  of  Olympia,  i.  86 
Hermogenes,  i.  67 
Hilda’s  Tower,  i.  250 
Hildebrand,  i.  52,  126-129;  ii. 


Honorius,  ii.  323,  324 
Horace,  i.  44,  57-75,  85,  87;  ii.  293 
and  the  Bore,  i.  65-71 
Camen  Seculare  of,  i.  75 
the  Satires  of,  i.  73,  74 
Horatii,  i.  3,  131 
Horatius,  i.  5,  6,  13,  23;  ii.  127 
Horses  of  Monte  Cavallo,  i.  181 
Hospice  of  San  Claudio,  i.  251 
Hospital  of— 

Santo  Spirito,  i.  274;  ii.  214,  215 
House  of  Parliament,  i.  271 
Hugh  of  Burgundy,  ii.  30 
of  Tuscany,  ii.  30 
Huns’  invasion,  i.  15,  49,  132 
Huxley,  ii.  225,  226 

I 

Imperia,  ii.  144 

Infessura,  Stephen,  ii.  59,  60,  204-213 
Inn  of — 

The  Bear,  i.  288 
Falcone,  ii.  26 
Lion,  i.  287 
Vanossa,  i.  288 

Inquisition,  i.  286;  ii.  46,49,52,  53,  54 
Interminelli,  Castruccio  degli,  i.  165 
Irene,  Empress,  i.  109 
Ischia,  i.  175 

Island  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  i.  272;  ii.  1 
Isola  Sacra,  i.  93 

Italian  life  during  the  Middle  Age,  i.  210, 247 
from  17th  to  18th  centuries,  i. 
260,  263,  264 

J 

Janiculum,  the,  i.  15,  253,  270;  ii.  268,  293, 
294,  295 

Jesuit  College,  ii.  61 

Jesuits,  ii.  45,  46,  61-63 

Jews,  i.  96;  ii.  101-119 

John  of  Cappadocia,  i.  267,  268 

Josephus,  ii.  103 

Juba,  i.  40 

Jugurtha,  i.  25 

Jupiter  Capitolinus,  ii.  324,  325 
priest  of,  i.  80,  133 
Justinian,  i.  267 

Juvenal,  i.  112;  ii.  105,  107,  124 
K 

Kings  of  Rome,  i.  2-7 

/ 


Index 


325 


L 

Lampridius,  ^Elius,  i.  178 
Lanciani,  i.  79,  177 

Lateran,  the,  i.  106,  112-1x4,  129,  140-142 
Count  of,  i.  166 
Latin  language,  i.  47 
Latini  Brunetto,  ii.  163 
Laurentum,  i.  55,  93 
Lazaret  of  Saint  Martha,  ii.  245 
League,  Holy,  i.  305,  306,  313,  314 
Lentulus,  ii.  128 
Lepida,  Domitia,  i.  255,  256 
Letus,  Pomponius,  i.  139;  ii.  2x0 
Lewis  of  Bavaria,  i.  165,  167,  192,  275 
the  Seventh,  ii.  86,  105 
Eleventh,  i.  104,  151 
Fourteenth,  i.  253 
Library  of — 

Collegio  Romano,  ii.  45 
Vatican,  ii.  275,  276,  282 
Victor  Emmanuel,  ii.  45,  61 
Lieges,  Bishop  of,  i.  280 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  ii.  231,  236 
Lippi,  Filippo,  ii.  190,  191,  192-195,  200 
Liszt,  i.  185,  203;  ii.  176 
Livia,  i.  220,  252 
Livy,  i.  44,  47 
Lombards,  the,  i.  251 
Lombardy,  i.  309 
Lorrain,  i.  264 
Loyola,  Ignatius,  ii.  46,  62 
Lucilius,  i.  74 
Lucretia,  i.  5,  12,  13 
Lucullus,  i.  257,  270 
Lupercalia,  i.  194 
Lupercus,  i.  194 


M 

Macchiavelli,  ii.  174 

Maecenas,  i.  62,  69,  74,  140;  ii.  293 

Maenads,  ii.  122 

Maldachini,  Olimpia,  i.  304,  305 
Mamertine  Prison,  i.  25;  ii.  72,  293 
Mancini,  Maria,  i.  170,  187 
Mancino,  Paul,  ii.  210 
Manlius,  Cnaeus,  ii.  121 
Marcus,  i.  29;  ii.  71,  84 
Titus,  i.  80 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  ii.  157,  169,  188, 196-198 

Marcomanni,  i.  190 

Marforio,  i.  305 

Marino,  i.  174 

Marius,  Caius,  i.  25,  29 


Marius  and  Sylla,  i.  25,  29,  36,  45,  53;  ii.  69 
Mark  Antony,  i.  30,  93,  195,  254 
Marozia,  ii.  27,  28 
Marriage  Laws,  i.  79,  80 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  ii.  47 
Masaccio,  ii.  190 
Massimi,  Pietro  de’,  i.  317 
Massimo,  i.  102,  317 
Mattei,  the,  ii.  137,  139,  140,  143 
Alessandro,  ii.  140-143 
Curzio,  ii.  140-143 
Girolamo,  ii.  141-143 
Marcantonio,  ii.  140,  141 
Olimpia,  ii.  141,  142 
Piero,  ii.  140,  141 
Matilda,  Countess,  ii.  307 
Mausoleum  of — 

Augustus,  i.  158,  169,  205,  251,  252,  270, 
271 

Hadrian,  i.  102,  252;  ii.  28,  202,  27a 
See  Castle  0/ Sant'  A ngelo 
Maximilian,  i.  151 
Mazarin,  i.  170,  187 
Mazzini,  ii.  2x9,  220 
Mediaevalism,  death  of,  ii.  22s 
Medici,  the,  i.  no;  ii.  276 
Cosimo  de’,  i.  289;  ii.  194 
Isabella  de’,  i.  290,  291 
John  de’,  i.  313 

Messalina,  i.  254,  272;  ii.  255,  256,  257 
Michelangelo,  i.  90,  146,  147,  173,  175,  177, 
302,  303,  315;  ii.  129,  130,  157,  159, 166, 
169,  171,  172,  175,  188,  200,  276-281, 
284,  317-319.  322 

“Last  Judgment”  by,  i.  173;  ii.  171, 
276,  280,  315 

“ Moses”  by,  ii.  278,  286 
“ Pietk  ” by,  ii.  286 

Middle  Age,  the,  i.  47,  92,  210-247,  274; 

163,  x66,  172-175,  180,  196 
Migliorati,  Ludovico,  i.  103 
Milan,  i.  175 

Duke  of,  i.  306 
Milestone,  golden,  i.  7a 
Mithraeum,  i.  271 
Mithras,  i.  76 

Mithridates,  i.  26,  30,  37,  358 
Mocenni,  Mario,  ii.  249 
Monaldeschi,  ii.  308 
Monastery  of — 

the  Apostles,  i.  182 
Dominicans,  ii.  45,  61 
Grottaferrata,  ii.  37 
Saint  Anastasia,  ii.  38 
Gregory,  ii.  85 
Sant'  Onofrio,  ii.  147 


326 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Moncada,  Ugo  de,  i.  307,  308 
Mons  Vaticanus,  ii.  268 
Montaigne,  i.  288 
Montalto.  See  Felice  Peretti 
Monte  Briano,  i.  274 

Cavallo,  i.  181, 188,  292,  293;  ii.  205, 
209 

Citorio,  i.  193,  252,  271 
Giordano,  i.  274,  281,  282,  288;  ii. 
206 

Mario,  i.  313;  ii.  268 
Montefeltro,  Guido  da,  ii.  160 
Monti  — 

the  Region,  i.  101,  106,  107,  in,  112, 
125,  i33»  i34,  J44>  150.  185,  305;  ii. 
133.  2°9 

and  Trastevere,  i.  129,  145,  153;  ii.  133, 
209 

by  moonlight,  i.  117 
Morrone,  Pietro  da,  i.  159 
Muratori,  i.  85,  132,  159,  277;  ii.  40,  48,  76, 
126,  324 

Museums  of  Rome,  i.  66 

Vatican,  ii.  272,  273,  283,  286,  287 
Villa  Borghese,  i.  301 
Mustafa,  ii.  247 


N 

Naples,  i.  175,  182,  307,  308 
Napoleon,  i.  32,  34,  53,  88,  109,  258;  ii.  2x8, 
221,  298 

Louis,  ii.  221,  223,  237 
Narcissus,  i.  255 
Navicella,  i.  106 
Nelson,  i.  253 
Neri,  Saint  Philip,  i.  318 
Nero,  i.  46,  56,  188,  254,  257,  285;  ii.  163, 
211,  291 

Nilus,  Saint,  ii.  36,  37,  40 

Nogaret,  i.  162,  164 

Northmen,  i.  46,  49 

Numa,  i.  3;  ii.  268 

Nunnery  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  i.  256 


O 

Octavius,  i.  27,  30,  43,  89;  ii.  291 
Odoacer,  i.  47;  ii.  297 
Olanda,  Francesco  d’,  i.  176 
Oliviero,  Cardinal  Carafa,  i.  186,  188 
Olympius,  i.  136,  137,  138 
Opimius,  i.  24 

Orgies  of  Bacchus,  i.  76;  ii.  120 


Orgies  of  the  Maenads,  ii.  121 

on  the  Aventine,  i.  76;  ii.  121 
Orsini,  the,  i.  94, 149, 153, 159,  167-169,  i831 
216,  217,  271,  274,  306-314;  ii.  16,  126, 
138,  204 
Bertoldo,  i.  168 
Camillo,  i.  311 
Isabella,  i.  291 
Ludovico,  i.  295 
Matteo,  i.  281 
Napoleon,  i.  161 
Orsino,  i.  166 

Paolo  Giordano,  i.  283,  290-295 
Porzia,  i.  187 
Troilo,  i.  290,  291 
Virginio,  i.  295 

war  between  Colonna  and,  i.  51,  104, 
159,  168,182,275-283,306-315;  ii.  18, 
126,  204 

Orsino,  Deacon,  i.  134,  135 
Orvieto,  i.  314 
Otho,  ii.  295 

the  Second,  ii.  304 
Otto,  the  Great,  i.  114;  ii.  28,  30 
Second,  ii.  28 
Third,  ii.  29-37 
Ovid,  i.  44,  63 


P 

Painting,  ii.  181 

in  fresco,  ii.  181-183 
oil,  ii.  184-186 

Palace  (Palazzo)  7- 
Annii,  i.  113 
Barberini,  i.  106,  187 
Borromeo,  ii.  61 
Braschi,  i.  305 
Caesars,  i.  4,  191 ; ii.  64 
Colonna,  i.  169,  189;  ii.  205 
Consulta,  i.  181 
Corsini,  ii.  149,  308 
Doria,  i.  207,  226 
Pamfili,  i.  206,  208 
Farnese,  i.  102 
Fiano,  i.  205 
della  Finanze,  i.  91 
Gabrielli,  i.  216 
the  Lateran,  i.  127;  ii.  30 
Massimo  alle  Colonna,  i.  316,  3x7 
Mattei,  ii.  140 
Mazarini,  i.  187 
of  Nero,  i.  152 
della  Pilotta,  i.  158 
Priori,  i.  160 


/ 


Index 


327 


Palace  (Palazzo)  — 

Quirinale,  i.  139,  181,  185,  186,  188,  189, 
304 

of  the  Renascence,  i.  205 
Rospigliosi,  i.  181,  187,  188,  189 
Ruspoli,  i.  206 
Santacroce,  i.  237 ; ii.  23 
of  the  Senator,  i.  114 
Serristori,  ii.  214,  216 
Theodoli,  i.  169 
di  Venezia,  i.  102,  192,  202 
Palatine,  the,  i.  2,  13,  67,  69,  194, 195;  ii.  64, 
ng 

Palermo,  i.  146 

Palestrina,  i.  156,  157,  158,  161,  165,  166, 
243,  282;  ii.  13,  315 
Paliano,  i.  282 

Duke  of,  i.  157,  189 
Palladium,  i.  77 
Pallavicini,  i.  206,  258 
Palmaria,  i.  267 
Pamfili,  the,  i.  206 
Pannartz,  i.  317 

Pantheon,  i.  90,  102,  195,  271,  278;  ii.  44, 

45,  146 

Parione,  the  Region,  i.  101,  297,  312,  317; 
ii.  42 

Square  of,  ii.  42 
Pasquino,  the,  i.  186,  305,  317 
Passavant,  ii.  285 
Passeri,  Bernardino,  i.  313;  ii.  308 
Patarina,  i.  107,  202 
Patriarchal  System,  i.  223-228 
Pavia,  i.  175 
Pecci,  the,  ii.  229 

Joachim  Vincent,  ii.  229,  230. 

Peretti,  the,  i.  205 

Felice,  i.  149,  289-295 
Francesco,  i.  149,  289,  292 
Vittoria.  See  Accoramboni 
Perugia,  i.  159,  276,  277 
Perugino,  ii.  157,  260,  276 
Pescara,  i.  174 

Peter  the  Prefect,  i.  114;  ii.  230 
Petrarch,  i.  161 
Petrella,  i.  286 

Philip  the  Fair,  i.  160,  276,  278 

Second  of  Spain,  ii.  47 
Phocas,  column  of,  ii.  93. 

Piazza  — 

Barberini,  i.  155 
della  Berlina  Vecchia,  i.  283 
Chiesa  Nuova,  i.  155 
del  Colonna,  i.  119,  190 
Gesd,  ii.  45 
della  Minerva,  ii.  45 


Piazza  — 

della  Moroni,  i.  250 

Navona,  i.  102,  297,  298,  302,  303, 
305 ; ii.  25,  46,  57 
Pigna,  ii.  55 

of  the  Pantheon,  i.  193;  ii.  26 
Pilotta,  i.  158 

del  Popolo,  i.  144,  206,  259,  273 
Quirinale,  i.  181 
Romana,  ii.  136 
Sant’  Eustachio,  ii.  25 
San  Lorenzo  in  Lucina,  i.  192,  205,  250 
Saint  Peter’s,  ii.  251,  309 
di  Sciarra,  i.  192 

Spagna,  i.  251 ; ii.  42 
delle  Terme,  i.  144 
di  Termini,  i.  144 
Venezia,  i.  206 

Pierleoni,  the,  ii.  77,  79,  82,  101,  105,  106, 
109,  114 
Pigna,  ii.  45 

the  Region,  i,  101,  102;  ii.  44 
Pilgrimages,  ii.  245 
Pincian  (hill),  i.  119,  270,  272 
Pincio,  the,  i.  121,  189,  223,  253,  255,  256, 
259,  264,  272 

Pintelli,  Baccio,  ii.  278,  279 
Pinturicchio,  ii.  147 
Pliny,  the  Younger,  i.  85,  87 
Pompey,  i.  30 
Pons  vEmilius,  i.  67 

Cestius,  ii.  102,  105 
Fabricius,  ii.  105 
Triumphalis,  i.  102,  274 
Ponte.  See  also  Bridge 
Garibaldi,  ii.  138 
Rotto,  i.  67 

Sant’  Angelo,  i.  274,  283,  284,  387; 

ii.  42,  55,  270 
Sisto,  i.  307,  31 1 ; ii.  136 
the  Region,  i.  274,  275 
Pontifex  Maximus,  i.  39,  48 
Pontiff,  origin  of  title,  ii.  127 
Pope  — 

Adrian  the  Fourth,  ii.  87 
Alexander  the  Sixth,  i.  258 ; ii.  269,  282 
Seventh,  i.  259 
Anastasius,  ii.  88 
Benedict  the  Sixth,  ii.  28-30 

Fourteenth,  i.  186 

Boniface  the  Eighth,  i.  159,  160,  167 
213,  280,  306;  ii.  304 
Celestin  the  First,  i.  164 
Second,  ii.  83 

Clement  the  Fifth,  i.  275,  276 
Sixth,  ii.  9,  17-19 


328 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Pope  — 

Clement  the  Seventh,  i.  306,  307,  310, 
313,  314;  ii.  308 
Eighth,  i.  286 
Ninth,  i.  187;  ii.  no 
Eleventh,  i.  171 
Thirteenth,  ii.  320 
Damascus,  i.  133,  135,  136 
Eugenius  the  Third,  ii.  85 

Fourth,  ii.  7,  56 
Ghisleri,  ii.  52,  53 
Gregory  the  Fifth,  ii.  32-37 

Seventh,  i.  52,  126;  ii.  307 
Thirteenth,  i.  183,  293 
Sixteenth,  i.  305;  ii.  221, 
223 

Honorius  the  Third,  ii.  126 
Fourth,  ii.  126 

Innocent  the  Second,  ii.  77,  79,  82,  105 
Third,  i.  153;  ii.  6 
Sixth,  ii.  19 
Eighth,  i.  275 
Tenth,  i.  206,  209, 302, 303 

Joan,  i.  143 

John  the  Twelfth,  ii.  282 

Thirteenth,  i.  113 
Fifteenth,  ii.  29 
Twenty-third,  ii.  269 
Julius  the  Second,  i.  208,  258;  ii.  276, 
298,  304 

Leo  the  Third,  i.  109;  ii.  146,  297 
Fourth,  ii.  242 
Tenth,  i.  304;  ii.  276,  304 
Twelfth,  i.  202;  ii.  in 
Thirteenth,  i.  77;  ii.  218-267, 
282,  287,  308,  312,  313 
Liberius,  i.  138 
Lucius  the  Second,  ii.  84,  85 
Martin  the  First,  i.  136 
Nicholas  the  Fourth,  i.  159,  274 

Fifth,  i.  52;  ii.  58,  268, 
269,  298,  304 

Paschal  the  Second,  i.  258;  ii.  307 
Paul  the  Second,  i.  202,  205 

Third,  i.  219;  ii.  41,  130,  304, 
323.  3f4 

Fourth, ii.  46,47,48-51, 111,112 
Fifth,  ii.  289 

Pelagius  the  First,  i.  170,  171;  ii.  307 
Pius  the  Fourth,  i.  147,  305 
Sixth,  i.  181,  182 
Seventh,  i.  53;  ii.  221 
Ninth,  i.  76,  183,  315;  ii.  66, 
no,  hi,  216,  221-225,  252, 
253.  255,  257,  258,  265,  298, 
308,  31 1 


Pope  — 

Silverius,  i.  266 

Sixtus  the  Fourth,  i.  258,  275;  ii.  127, 
204-213,  274,  278,  321 
Fifth,  i.  52,  139,  149,  181, 
184,  186,  205,  283;  ii.  43, 
157,241,304,323 
Sylvester,  i.  113;  ii.  297,  298 
Symmachus,  ii.  44 
Urban  the  Second,  i.  52 

Sixth,  ii.  322,  323 
Eighth,  i.  181,  187,  268,  301; 
ii.  132,  203,  298 
Vigilius,  ii.  307 
Popes,  the,  i.  125,  142,  273 

at  Avignon,  i.  167,  273,  277;  ii.  9 
among  sovereigns,  ii.  228 
election  of,  ii.  41,  42 
hatred  for,  ii.  262-264 
temporal  power  of,  i.  168;  ii.  255-259 
Poppaea,  i.  103 
Porcari,  the,  ii.  56 

Stephen,  ii.  56-60,  204 
Porsena  of  Clusium,  i.  5,  6,  12 
Porta.  See  also  Gate  — 

Angelica,  i.  120 
Maggiore,  i.  107 
Metronia,  i.  106 
Mugonia,  i.  10 
Pia,  i.  107,  147,  152;  ii.  224 
Pinciana,  i.  193,  250,  264,  266,  269 
del  Popolo,  i.  272,  299 
Portese,  ii.  132 
Salaria,  i.  106,  107,  193 
San  Giovanni,  i.  107,  120 
Lorenzo,  i.  107 
Sebastiano,  ii.  119,  125 
Spirito,  i.  311;  ii.  132,  152 
Tiburtina,  i.  107 
Portico  of  Neptune,  i.  271 
Octavia,  ii.  3,  105 
Poussin,  Nicholas,  i.  264 
Praeneste,  i.  156 
Praetextatus,  i.  134 
Prefect  of  Rome,  i.  103,  114,  134 
Presepi,  ii.  139 
Prince  of  Wales,  i.  203 
Prior  of  the  Regions,  i.  112,  114 
Processions  of — 

the  Brotherhood  of  Saint  John,  ii.  130 
Captains  of  Regions,  i.  112 
Coromania,  i.  141 

Coronation  of  Lewis  of  Bavaria,  i.  166, 
167 

Ides  of  May,  ii.  127-129 

the  Triumph  of  Aurelian,  i.  179 


Index 


329 


Progress  and  civilization,  i.  262;  ii.  177-180 
romance,  i.  154 
Prosper  of  Cicigliano,  ii.  213 


Q 

Quaestor,  i.  58 

Quirinal,  the  (hill),  i.  106, 119,  158, 182,  184, 
186,  187;  ii.  205 


R 

Rabble,  Roman,  i.  115,  128,  132,  153,  281; 
ii.  131 

Race  course  of  Domitian,  i.  270,  297 
Races,  Carnival,  i.  108,  202,  203 
Raimondi,  ii.  315 
Rampolla,  ii.  239,  249,  250 
Raphael,  i.  260,  315;  ii.  159,  169,  175,  188, 
200,  281,  285,  322 
in  Trastevere,  ii.  144-147 
the  “ Transfiguration”  by,  ii.  146,  281 
Ravenna,  i.  175 

Regions  (Rioni),  i.  100-105,  110-1x4,  166 
Captains  of,  i.  110 
devices  of,  i.  100 
fighting  ground  of,  i.  129 
Prior,  i.  112,  114 
rivalry  of,  i.  108,  no,  125 
Regola,  the  Region,  i.  101,  168;  ii.  1-3 
Regulus,  i.  20 
Religion,  i.  48,  50,  75 
Religious  epochs  in  Roman  history,  i.  76 
Renascence  in  Italy,  i.  52,  77,  84,  98,  99, 
188,  237,  240,  250,  258,  261,  262,  303;  ii. 
152-201,  280 
art  of,  i.  231 
frescoes  of,  i.  232 

highest  development  of,  i.  303,  315 
leaders  of,  ii.  152,  157-159 
manifestation  of,  ii.  197 
palaces  of,  i.  205,  216 
represented  in  “The  Last  Judgment,” 
ii.  280 

results  of  development  of,  ii.  199 
Reni,  Guido,  i.  264;  ii.  317 
Republic,  the,  i.  6,  12,  15,  53,  110;  ii.  291 
and  Arnold  of  Brescia,  ii.  86 
Porcari,  ii.  56-60 
Rienzi,  i.  93 ; ii.  6-8 
modern  ideas  of,  ii.  219 
Revolts  in  Rome  — 

against  the  nobles,  ii.  73 
of  the  army,  i.  25 


Revolts  in  Rome  — 

of  Arnold  of  Brescia,  ii.  73-89 
Marius  and  Sylla,  i.  25 
Porcari,  ii.  56-60 
Rienzi,  i.  93;  ii.  6-8,  73 
slaves,  i.  24 

Stefaneschi,  i.  281-283;  ii.  219-222 
Revolutionary  idea,  the,  ii.  219-222 
Riario,  the,  ii.  149,  150,  151 
Jerome,  ii.  205 

Rienzi,  Nicholas,  i.  23,  93,  103,  168,  2x1, 
281 ; ii.  3-23,  308 
Rioni.  See  Regions 
Ripa,  the  Region,  i.  101;  ii.  118 
Ripa  Grande,  ii.  127 
Ripetta,  ii.  52 
Ristori,  Mme.,  i.  169 
Robert  of  Naples,  i.  278 
Roffredo,  Count,  i.  114,  115 
Rome  — 

a day  in  mediaeval,  i.  241-247 
Bishop  of,  i.  133 
charm  of,  i.  54,  98,  318 
ecclesiastic,  i.  124 
lay,  i.  124 

a modern  Capital,  i.  123,  124 

foundation  of,  i.  2 

of  the  Augustan  Age,  i.  60-62 

Barons,  i.  50,  84,  104,  229-247; 
«.  75 

Caesars,  i.  84 

Empire,  i.  15,  17,  28,  31,  45,  47, 
53,  60, 99 

Kings,  i.  2-7,  10,  11 
Middle  Age,  i.  110,  210-247,  274; 
ii.  1 72-175 

Napoleonic  era,  i.  229 
Popes,  i,  50,  77,  84,  104 
Republic,  i.  6,  12,  16,  53,  110 
Rienzi,  i.  93;  ii.  6-8 
to-day,  i.  55 

sack  of,  by  Constable  of  Bourbon,  i. 

259,  273,  309-315 
sack  of,  by  Gauls,  i.  15,  49,  252 

Guiscard,  i.  95,  126-129,  252 
seen  from  dome  of  Saint  Peter’s,  ii.  302. 
under  Tribunes,  i.  14 
Decemvirs,  i.  14 
Dictator,  i.  28 

Romulus,  i.  2,  5,  30,  78,  228 
Rospigliosi,  i.  206 
Rossi,  Pellegrino,  i.  316 
Count,  ii.  223 
Rostra,  i.  27;  ii.  93 
Julia,  i.  68;  ii.  93 
Rota,  ii.  215 


33° 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Rovere,  the,  i.  258;  ii.  276,  279,  321 
Rudini,  i.  187 

Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  i.  161 
Rufillus,  i.  65 


S 

Sacchi,  Bartolommeo,  i.  139,  147 
Saint  Peter’s  Church,  i.  166,  278;  ii.  202, 
212,  243,  246,  268,  289,  294,  295,  326 
altar  of,  i.  96 
architects  of,  ii.  304 
bronze  doors  of,  ii.  299,  300 
builders  of,  ii.  304 

Chapel  of  the  Choir,  ii.  310,  313,  314 
Chapel  of  the  Sacrament,  ii.  274,  306, 
308,  310,  312,  313 
Choir  of,  ii.  313-316 
Colonna  Santa,  ii.  319 
dome  of,  i.  96;  ii.  302 
Piazza  of,  ii.  251 
Sacristy  of,  i.  171 
Salvini,  i.  169,  252 
Giorgio,  i.  313 
Santacroce  Paolo,  i.  286 
Sant’  Angelo  the  Region,  i.  101;  ii.  101 
Santorio,  Cardinal,  i.  208 
San  Vito,  i.  282 
Saracens,  i.  128,  144 
Sarto,  Andrea  del,  ii.  157,  169 
Saturnalia,  i.  125,  194,  195 
Saturninus,  i.  25 
Satyricon,  the,  i.  85 
Savelli,  the,  i.  284;  ii.  1, 16,  126,  206 
John  Philip,  ii.  207-210 
Savonarola,  i.  no 

Savoy,  house  of,  i.  no;  ii.  219,  220,  224 
Scaevola,  i.  13 
Schweinheim,  i.  317 
Scipio,  Cornelius,  i.  20 

of  Africa,  i.  20,  22,  29,59,  76;  ii.  121 
Asia,  i.  21 ; ii.  120 
Scotus,  i.  182 

See,  Holy,  i.  159,  168;  ii.  264-267,  277,  294 
Segni,  Monseignor,  i.  304 
Sejanuo,  ii.  294 
Semiamira,  i.  178 
Senate,  Roman,  i.  167,  168,  257 
the  Little,  i.  177,  180 
Senators,  i.  78,  112,  167 
Servius,  i.  5,  15 
Severus  — 

Arch  of,  ii.  92 
Septizonium  of,  i.  96,  127 
Sforza,  i.  13;  ii.  89 


Sforza,  Catharine,  i.  177;  ii.  150 
Francesco,  i.  306 
Siena,  i.  232,  268;  ii.  229 
Signorelli,  ii.  277 
Slaves,  i.  81,  24 
Sosii  Brothers,  i.  72,  73 
Spencer,  Herbert,  ii.  225,  226 
Stefaneschi,  Giovanni  degli,  i.  103,  282 
Stilicho,  ii.  323 
Stradella,  Alessandro,  ii.  315 
Streets.  See  Via 
Subiaco,  i.  282 
Suburra,  i.  39;  ii.  95 
Suetonuis,  i.  43 
Sylla,  ii.  25-29,  36-42 


T 

Tacitus,  i.  46,  254;  ii.  103 
Tarentum,  i.  18,  19 
Tarpeia,  i.  29;  ii.  68,  69 
Tarpeian  Rock,  ii.  67 

Tarquins,  the,  i.  6,  11,  12,  80,  248,  249,  269; 
ii.  69 

Sextus,  i.  5,  n 

Tasso,  i.  188,  189;  ii.  147-149 
Bernardo,  i.  188 
Tatius,  i.  68,  69 
Tempietto,  the,  i.  264 
Temple  of — 

Castor,  i.  27 

Castor  and  Pollux,  i.  68;  ii.  92,  94 
Ceres,  ii.  119 
Concord,  i.  24;  ii.  92 
Flora,  i.  155 
Hercules,  ii.  40 
Isis  and  Serapis,  i.  271 
Julius  Caesar,  i.  72 
Minerva,  i.  96 
Saturn,  i.  194,  201;  ii.  94 
the  Sun,  i.  177,  179,  180,  271 
Venus  and  Rome,  i.  no 
Venus  Victorius,  i.  270 
Vesta,  i.  68 
Tenebrae,  i.  117 
Tetricius,  i.  179 
Theatre  of — 

Apollo,  i.  286 
Balbus,  ii.  1 

Marcellus,  ii.  1,  101,  105,  106,  119 
Pompey,  i.  103,  153 
Thedoric  of  Verona,  ii.  297 
Theodoli,  th^,  i.  258 

Theodora  Senatrix,  i.  158,  266,  267;  ii.  27- 
29,  203,  282 


Index 


33i 


Tiber,  i.  23,  27,  66,  93,  94,  151, 158, 168, 189, 
237,  248,  249,  254,  269,  272,  288 
Tiberius,  i.  254,  287;  ii.  102 
Titian,  i.  315;  ii.  165,  166,  175,  188,  278 
Titus,  i.  56,  86;  ii.  102,  295 
Tivoli,  i.  180,  185;  ii.  76,  85 
Torre  (Tower)  — 

Anguillara,  ii.  138,  139,  140 
Borgia,  ii.  269,  285 
dei  Conti,  i.  118,  153 
Milizie,  i.  277 
Millina,  i.  274 

di  Nona,  i.  274,  284,  287;  ii.  52,  54,  72 
Sanguigna,  i.  274 
Torrione,  ii.  241,  242 
Trajan,  i.  85,  192;  ii.  206 
Trastevere,  the  Region,  i.  101,  127,  129, 
278,  3°7>  3«;  “•  I32>  I33»  !34»  *35»  J36» 
M3,  151 

Trevi,  the  Fountain,  i.  155,  186 
the  Region,  i.  155,  187;  ii.  209 
Tribunes,  i.  14 
Trinitk  de’  Monti,  i.  256,  264 
dei  Pellegrini,  ii.  iro 
Triumph,  the,  of  Aurelian,  i.  179 
Triumphal  Road,  i.  66,  69,  70,  71 
Tullianum,  i.  8 
Tullus,  i.  3 

Domitius,  i.  90 
Tuscany,  Duke  of,  ii.  30 
Tusculum,  i.  158 

U 

Unity,  of  Italy,  i.  53,  77,  123,  184;  ii.  224 
under  Augustus,  i.  184 

Victor  Emmanuel,  i.  184 
University,  Gregorian,  the,  ii.  61 
of  the  Sapienza,  i.  251;  ii.  24,  25 
Urbino,  Duke  of,  i.  208,  217 


V 

Valens,  i.  133 
Valentinian,  i.  133 
Varus,  i.  46 

Vatican,  the,  i.  127, 128,  147,  165,  189,  278, 
281,  307;  ii.  44,  202,  207,  228,  243,  245, 
249,  250,  252,  253,  269,  271 
barracks  of  the  Swiss  Guard,  ii.  275 
chapels  in, 

Pauline,  ii. 

Nicholas,  ii.  285 

Sixtine,  ii.  246,  274,  275,  276,  278- 
281,  285 


Vatican  — 
chapels  in, 

fields,  i.  274 

Court  of  the  Belvedere,  ii.  269 
Saint  Damasus,  ii.  273 
finances  of,  ii.  253 
gardens  of,  ii.  243,  271,  287 
of  the  Pigna,  ii.  273 
library,  ii.  275,  276,  282 

Borgia  apartments  of,  ii.  282 
Loggia  of  the  Beatification,  ii.  245 

Raphael,  ii.  273,  274,  276,  285 
Maestro  di  Camera,  ii.  239,  248,  250 
museums  of,  ii.  272,  273,  283,  286,  287 
picture  galleries,  ii.  273-284 
Pontifical  residence,  ii.  249 
private  apartments,  ii.  249 
Sala  Clementina,  ii.  248 
del  Concistoro,  ii.  246 
Ducale,  ii.  245,  247 
Regia,  ii.  246 
throne  room,  ii.  247 
Torre  Borgia,  ii.  269,  285 
Veii,  i.  16,  17 
Velabrum,  i.  67 
Veneziano,  Domenico,  ii.  185 
Venice,  i.  193,  296,  306;  ii.  35,  205 
Vercingetorix,  ii.  294 
Vespasian,  i.  46,  56;  ii.  295 
Vespignani,  ii.  241,  242 
Vesta,  i.  57 

temple  of,  i.  71,  77 
Vestals,  i.  77,  80,  133,  152;  ii.  99 
house  of,  i.  69 
Via- 

della  Angelo  Custode,  i.  122 
Appia,  i.  22,  94 
Arenula,  ii.  45 
Borgognona,  i.  251 
Campo  Marzo,  i.  150 
di  Caravita,  ii.  45 

del  Corso,  i.  155,  158,  192,  193,  251;  ii. 

45 

della  Dateria,  i.  183 
Dogana  Vecchia,  ii.  26 
Flaminia,  i.  193 
Florida,  ii.  45 
Frattina,  i.  250 
de’  Greci,  i.  251 
Lata,  i.  193 

Lungara,  i.  274;  ii.  144,  145,  147 
Lungaretta,  ii.  140 
della  Maestro,  i.  283 
Marforio,  i.  106 
di  Monserrato,  i.  283 
Montebello,  i.  107 


332 


Ave  Roma  Immortalis 


Via  — 

Nazionale,  i.  277 
Nova,  i.  69 
di  Parione,  i.  297 
de’  Poli,  i.  267 
de  Pontefici,  i.  158 
de  Prefetti,  ii.  6 
Quattro  Fontane,  i.  155,  187 
Sacra,  i.  65,  71,  180 
San  Gregorio,  i.  71 
San  Teodoro,  i.  195 
de’  Schiavoni,  i.  158 
Sistina,  i.  260 
della  Stelleta,  i.  250 
della  Tritone,  i.  106,  1 19-122,  155 
Triumphalis,  i.  66,  70,  71 
Venti  Settembre,  i.  186 
Vittorio  Emanuele,  i.  275 
Viale  Castro  Pretorio,  i.  107 
Vicolo  della  Corda,  i.  283 
Victor  Emmanuel,  i.  53, 166, 184;  ii.  90,  221, 
224,  225,  238 
monument  to,  ii.  90 
Victoria,  Queen  of  England,  ii.  263 
Vigiles,  cohort  of  the,  i.  158,  170 
Villa  Borghese,  i.  223 
Colonna,  i.  181,  189 
d’Este,  i.  185 
of  Hadrian,  i.  180 
Ludovisi,  i.  106,  193 
Medici,  i.  259,  262,  264,  265,  269,  313 


Villa  Negroni,  i.  148,  149,  289,  292 
Publica,  i.  250 
Villani,  i.  160,  277;  ii.  164 
Villas,  in  the  Region  of  Monti,  i.  149,  150 
Vinci,  Lionardo  da,  i.  260,  315;  ii.  147,  159, 
169,  171,  175,  184,  188,  195,  200 
“ The  Last  Supper,”  by,  ii.  171,  184 
Virgil,  i.  44,  56,  63 
Virginia,  i.  14 
Virginius,  i.  15 
Volscians,  ii.  230 

W 

Walls  — 

Aurelian,  i.  93,  106,  no,  193,  271;  ii. 
119,  144 

Servian,  i.  5,  7,  15,  250,  270 
of  Urban  the  Eighth,  ii.  132 
Water  supply,  i.  145 
William  the  Silent,  ii.  263 
Witches  on  the  iEsquiline,  i.  140 
Women’s  life  in  Rome,  i.  9 


Z 

Zama,  i.  21,  59 

Zenobia  of  Palmyra,  i.  179;  ii.  150. 
Zouaves,  the,  ii.  216 


/ 


GETTY  CENTER  LIBRARY 


3125  00060  7909 


mm 


